


No Price Too High

by retln8



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, F/M, POV Female Character, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 74
Words: 142,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retln8/pseuds/retln8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of the mage Isabeaux Surana as she leaves the Circle of Magi to become a Grey Warden and eventual Hero of Ferelden.<br/> <br/>**Warnings **<br/>**This is an extremely long work, following the entire game and may include  scenes/chapters that include semi-explicit romantic interludes between characters.**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Steps

The stairs curved elegantly before her as she climbed almost reluctantly. Her fingers drifted across the delicately carved banisters as she allowed herself to be lost in thought. Tonight she was to take her place as an equal among mages, should she survive. Isabeaux set her mouth in a determined line. She had survived thus far, no thanks to Andraste and her disciples. The last flight of stairs, leading to the Harrowing chamber lay ahead of her but she was not concerned with what lay ahead. She thought of her papa, rotting in the Alienage. She could see his lined face quite clearly, he would be so proud of her. She thought it unfortunate that people were so fearful of mages when they could do so much to help the world beyond these walls. She worried about the man who had given her the strength to be a talented mage. She hoped that life had become better for her father; that he had made a new family and not dwelled on the loss of both her and her mother. She had last seen Cyrion’s face when she was eight and it had already been deeply marked by loss. That had been fourteen years ago. 

Isabeaux mused that she had not seen the outside world, except through small, high windows, in her turn here. She had learned much in that time. Her fellow mages had become a surrogate family. The apprentices bickered like siblings, while the elders ran herd. She was not treated differently from the human apprentices, not that she could tell at any rate. They did not care that she had come from the slums of Ferelden’s biggest city. She looked down and realized that her feet had carried her to the doorway without her really noticing the passing.

The First Enchanter Irving, put his hand on her back when she stopped moving, trying to move her along. She looked up at him, his eyes a dark fathomless blue, like Lyrium. He smiled in a fatherly way and pushed gently again.

“Must I?” Her voice was hushed in the pre-dawn hours.

“It’s alright child. You shall do splendidly.” His voice was gruff with lack of sleep but he made the effort to reassure her, thinking that she was nervous.

“How do you know?” 

“I helped train you, I know that you are destined for far greater things than you realize. This is but the first step.”

She nodded and walked through the heavy oak door.

The room she entered would have been lovely during the day. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling. Their elegant tracings danced along the floor in the moonlight. A few torches broke the pattern and created pools of yellow gold, dotted with the ever present Templar Knights. Her eyes were drawn to the far side and lit upon her one weakness, her heart’s desire. Beneath her breast, she could feel her heart flutter, the silent acknowledgment of sin. Ser Greagoir, Knight Commander of the Circle in Ferelden stepped forward and explained, vaguely, what she was supposed to do. Isabeaux collected her scattered thoughts and looked at Greagoir. His eyes had narrowed at her. He had been expecting a response. The weight of the Harrowing settled in and her stomach exploded with butterflies. 

Isabeaux knew that it would not do for her to appear discomposed. She looked nervously at the other Knights. Only she and Irving were mages there. Fighting the training to never put herself forward, she did just that. She laughed a little at her movement, drawing a disappointed glare from the Knight Commander.

“It is no laughing matter, young lady. This is a serious test of your ability. If you slip. Even a little. You could fall prey to a demon and the consequences would be dire.”

She took a deep breath and forced herself to still. He didn’t need to caution her. She had heard the warning time and again. A mage, who could not control their emotions and their power would fall prey to the most venial of sins and become an abomination. Such a creature was to be killed immediately and without remorse. Finally, Isabeaux turned fully to the Knight Commander.

“I am ready.” Her voice, though not commanding, was strong and confident. Greagoir took her arm and escorted her to a small pedestal in the center of the room.

“This is Lyrium. It shall facilitate your journey into the Fade. Touch it and begin your test.”

The Knight Commander did not need to repeat the part about losing her head should she fail, but he felt it necessary regardless. Her eyes roved the room once more; lighting first upon Irving, then her beloved and finally back to the Knight Commander. She nodded once to the last and reached out to the pool of concentrated Magicks, and the world she knew faded away.


	2. Rude Awakenings

Isabeaux awoke that morning with a throbbing headache and an insistent nagging ringing in her ears. She quickly rubbed the sleep dust out of her eyes and tried to clear her head while identifying her friend Jowan's voice worriedly calling to her.

"Are you alright? We had no idea that they had called you for your Harrowing until they brought you in this morning." His hands fluttered as he tried to offer comfort and support without actually touching her. He also made a move to sit next to her on the bed, but appeared worried about the proprieties of such an action. She rolled her head on her neck trying to clear her head and then stood, unsteadily to stop Jowan's flighty movements.

"I am fine Jowan, but I was asleep. Was there something important you wanted?"

"The First Enchanter wanted to see you as soon as you awoke." 

Isabeaux looked at her friend and wondered, uncharitably, why they were friends. She grimaced at her own thoughts. He had been a true friend, once. Now, he was edgy and secretive and occasionally cruel. People changed. She knew that, but his had seemed a more recent transformation. He had confided that he was 'in love' to her once, not too long ago and that was probably the source. She had a secret love and was sure that others probably found her to be as irritating as they found Jowan. 'Now, stop that,' she told herself and painted a congenial smile on her face.

"Thank you, Jowan."

"What was it like?"

She knew what he was hinting at and was torn. Perhaps, if he knew, he would appear more confident in his abilities and they would call him for his Harrowing; but she knew that the 'uninitiated' were not supposed to know. She sighed at her indecision and then strode boldly ahead.

"It is a test of skill, Jowan. They send you into the Fade and pit you against a demon, to see if you can withstand it."

"Is that all?"

She raised an eyebrow and realized that she could have told him that he would stand in a room filled with mages who would shoot spells at him until they were defeated and he would have believed her better. Instead she nodded as he babbled on about the Tranquil and then he stated that he believed that they were going to make him Tranquil.

"What? No, Jowan. You are just nervous. I am sure they will call you any day for your Harrowing. You just need to appear to be more confident and relaxed."

"Sure. Sure. I should go. It wouldn't do to keep the First Enchanter waiting." She was still in shock over his announcement when he stalked off. She sighed and rubbed her face again, moving toward the bathing rooms. She felt sticky and bruised from her travels through the fade and wanted to make as good an impression as she could after her Harrowing. If she were lucky, she would see Ser Cullen. If she weren't, well then, at least she would be putting her best face forward. 

As she primped in front of the mirror, preparing for her interview with the First Enchanter, one of the other apprentices walked up behind her.

"We are so proud of you, and I heard something you should know."

"What?" Isabeaux's eyes sparkled with delight at the idea of some juicy gossip.

"I heard... that Ser Cullen is in love with you." 

"That is utter nonsense." Isabeaux couldn't contain the light flutters in her stomach. 'Could it even be possible that he felt for her, what she felt for him?" Her musings stopped her primping for a second before she shook off her reverie and started the journey up the flights of stairs to the First Enchanter, and her new life as a Senior Mage.


	3. Stolen Moments

Isabeaux was entertaining a delightful fantasy, of her married to Ser Cullen, living somewhere far from the circle, when she turned the corner and saw the object of her affection. He shouldn’t have been on duty, having served during her Harrowing the night before. Ser Cullen, in his handsome glory, appeared to be waiting for something, nervously scanning the halls. Isabeaux brushed at her dress and patted her hair, hoping that she met with his approval. She walked up to him, her eyes cast shyly to the ground. Only when she could feel his nearness, did she look up. His eyes, a soft, pale green heated when they met hers and her mouth went dry.

“Hello, Cullen.” He smiled softly at the sound of her voice and started to stammer in the cutest manner. He apologized for being the one set to strike her down if she had turned into an abomination and assured her it was nothing personal. She wasn’t really listening though, she was just watching his mouth move and was jerked out of her reverie when he touched her hand.

“I knew I would not fail my Harrowing.” It was a truth that she would not have shared with many. She’d had too much to live for, to achieve yet.

“You are always so confident; at least… that is what I’ve heard.” He shifted from foot to foot, shy, embarrassed and enamored.

Her head tilted to the side and she remembered a night, not too long ago, in which she had gotten tipsy on some contraband wine and kissed him. At the time, she had assumed that he had no interest in her, but when he returned her kiss with a deep longing, she had hope. Now, they flirted in the halls and would sneak small pecks on the cheek or lips if they were sure they were alone. It was time she told him of her feelings.

“Are you busy right now, Cullen?”

“Um… yes? Perhaps we could speak another time.” His eyes cast up and down the halls, looking for anyone who might spy upon them.

“Please? A moment of your time… in private?” She walked past him into a small reading nook, and lit the candles. He followed a moment later and shut and locked the door.

“Isabeaux? Is something wrong?” His voice was husky as he approached. Instead of answering with words, she stepped into his arms and claimed his mouth. For a moment he was stunned, but then moved swiftly into action. Their mouths worked feverishly at one another’s, trying to show everything that they could not say. When they parted, barely a breath between them, she looked up into his eyes.

“I love you, Cullen. I had to tell you. I do not know if I will ever have that chance again.” Her eyes turned liquid at the knowledge that the Chantry believed her feelings to be wrong. He inclined his head toward hers and breathed in her scent, deeply; holding her tightly and wishing the world away.

“We can’t do this, my love. I can not hold you to a life in which we must never do this again. You should have more.” His words were soft but they pinched all the same.

“I will never have more. I am a Mage of the Circle. I have been cursed by the Maker, according to the Chantry. This is all I could ask for.” She sniffled a bit, reluctant to step back and end it all before it began.

“I have something for you. My mother’s ring. She made it into an amulet for me when I took my orders. I. I want you to have it. This way, you will know that I love you, as my father loved my mother and will forever hold you in my heart.” As he spoke, he stepped back, breaking their connection and pulled the delicate chain over his neck. He started to place it in her hand but then, with a light touch, slipped the amulet over her head and laid it softly against her heart. He kissed her cheek once more, backed away and disappeared into the hallway.

Isabeaux waited a few minutes, trying to compose herself and failing. She slumped into the rooms only chair and allowed the tears to fall, feeling her tender heart break. Little by little, she pulled herself together and wiped her eyes. She took some deep breaths and tried to stand. Realizing that she wasn’t ready, quite yet, she sat there and wondered how it all went so wrong. She pulled the thin chain away from her breast and looked at it. The ring, for that is all it really was, was delicately wrought with leaves and roses decorating its thin band. 

Inside, inscribed, were two letters inscribed, C and I. He had done this for her. Soft tears fell anew but this time she was able to wipe them away. The candles flickered in their holders and she wished that Andraste or the Maker would grant her this one wish. With a sigh, she set her head down and sent up her prayers to whoever would listen.


	4. New Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabeaux meets Duncan of the Grey Wardens

Her chest ached and her stomach hurt, but she knew her duty and had shirked it long enough in search of what she felt she would never be allowed to have. Magic exists to serve man and never rule over him is what the Canticle of Transfigurations from the Chant of light said. Of course, the Chantry also intimated that the mere act of possessing magical talent was a sin against the Maker. ‘As if any of us asked to become a Mage when we are born.’ Isabeaux sighed and rubbed at her chest, hoping to dull the ache there. She had to find a mirror and repair the damage her crying had done. It simply would not do to appear in front of the First Enchanter looking like a bedraggled mouse. 

She slipped into one of the washrooms on the school room floor before heading to Irving’s office. Her eyes were red and puffy, but a little cool water from the basin fixed most of it. She patted her hair into place, smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her robes and with her head held high, she strode toward the First Enchanter’s office. 

Her first inclination was to walk right in, because she had been summoned. The voices inside stilled her steps though. Voices, deep and booming were raised in argument and she had no wish to intrude. 

Neither did she step away, though. She could barely make out what they were saying although she could identify the participants.

“We have already sent enough mages to Ostagar. Wynne, Uldred, most of the Senior Enchanters.” Greagoir’s voice was insistent and angry. Isabeaux wondered if she too was going to be sent from the tower to where ever Ostagar was. Fearful of leaving the tower for the first time in fourteen years terrified and thrilled her. Her sore heart thumped in her chest and she hoped, that for duty’s sake, she would be sent; if only so that her heart could heal. Irving’s reedier voice broke through her reverie needling the Knight Commander. 

“Since when have you felt such a kinship with the Mages, Greagoir?”

Isabeaux stepped forward, partially filling the doorway with her slight frame. A third gentleman, one she had not noticed before cleared his throat and ended the argument. She bowed her head modestly as she was called into the room.

“You asked for me, First Enchanter?” Somehow, Isabeaux could not help but feel that she was being looked over like a prize horse at an auction. All three men were silent for a second before the new gentleman questioned in a low tone about her appearance. Her eyes snapped up however, when Greagoir stated that he and Irving were not done with their conversation, but as he was going to be otherwise occupied for a while, the two of them would have to pick it up later. She had disturbed something important, and, while curious, held her tongue.

Isabeaux was introduced to the new gentleman. It was obvious that he was a warrior of some reknown even if his title, Grey Warden, escaped her. Her mind filled with the research she would do to learn about the order this man belonged to. Questions flew at her about a war brewing in the South of Ferelden at a place called Ostagar. Irving prevented the newcomer from filling her head with ideas of freedom from the Circle by recalling her to her duty. He presented her with her new robes of station and a ring to proclaim her a ‘Mage of the Circle.’ She was also told that her phylactery, the metaphysical leash the Chantry held on her, had gone to Ostagar. She did her best to look grateful for the gifts but knowing that she would always be held by that small vial of blood tugged at her. Even now, they did not trust her and would never allow her to feel the outside air freely. There would always be a price, and someone watching.

She was snapped out of the cynical reverie by Irving once more, giving her the day off from study and work to enjoy as she wished. Isabeaux nodded and made to take her leave but was stalled by both the First Enchanter and Duncan, the Grey Warden.

“Would you show him back to his rooms, please, Isabeaux?” The two men exchanged glances and Duncan nodded his assent.

“Of course, First Enchanter. It would be my pleasure to assist.” She smiled lightly, as if she were asked to do this every day. She gathered the gifts from the Circle and motioned with her head that Duncan was to follow. 

Together they walked in silence for a bit before curiosity got the better of her. She stopped abruptly and looked at the Tower’s guest. When their eyes met, she was surprised by the twinkle of amusement she saw in Duncan’s. 

“Yes? Is there something wrong?” His voice rumbled over her skin. She liked the sound of his voice, and unlike many of the men in the Circle, his did not make her skin itch and crawl. She quirked her lips, trying to find the right words, but could not. Instead, all of the questions that had been bubbling up since she had interrupted the meeting spilled out. He answered them all, including the most important one. ‘Why was he here?’

“I am hoping to gain the support of the Tower of Magi for the war in the South. I believe a Blight is coming and we will need all the help we can get to defeat it.”

“Would... would it be possible for me to join the army and fight?” Her voice trembled, fearful that he would say yes, more so that he would say no. Instead of answering her outright, he asked more questions, about herself and her feelings about her talents. At the end, she felt as if she had been interrogated and had been given no answers. ‘Perhaps,’ she thought, ‘that is my answer. He can not force the Circle to give me up, but he might be willing to argue for my release.’ The thought buoyed her spirits a little as they finished the journey to his room. It was obvious to Isabeaux, that the Grey Warden had been here many times before in the past and knew his way around, but that he and Irving were planning something. This time, she was going to be a part of it, whether she would or no. Backing out of the room, to give the man his privacy, she thought about what it might mean and decided that she would rather be a willing pawn in this game than to sit idly by pining for some unknown. 

She didn’t notice Jowan until she had stepped backwards into him and almost dropped her burden. 

“Are you done speaking with Irving?” Her eyes narrowed at the question. ‘Had he been following her? Or just taking advantage of a moment in which she appeared free?’

“I think I am. For now at least. Why? Is there something you needed?” She kept her voice even and low, trying not to draw the attention of the occupant in the room she had just left.

“We can’t talk here. Come with me.” Jowan turned and walked away from her, confident that she would follow. Isabeaux sighed and walked slowly behind him. No doubt about it, Jowan was acting strangely and there was something else to it. Something she knew that she really wanted no part of, but events and duty would compel her to at least see what was going on before pushing her to act.


	5. Hard Choice

Isabeaux watched as Jowan moved furtively down the hall. He looked left and right as he walked, as if he half expected that a huge monster was going to jump out from a darkened alcove and gobble him home. She frowned at his back. He had really gone too far with the suspicious behavior and she felt she had been tolerant enough. All she wanted was to go to her new room and lay down her burden. She wanted a bath. She wanted a nap. She did not want to be a part of whatever hare-brained scheme that Jowan had cooked up. He scurried forward and darted into the Chantry. Rolling her eyes, Isabeaux followed at a more sedate pace.

He rushed to the side of a Chantry priest, took her hand in his and kissed it fervently. So this is why all the secrecy, he was in love with a priest, the ultimate sin in the Chantry’s eyes. 

“Do you remember a few months ago when I told you that I had met a girl? This is her. This is my Lily.”

Isabeaux smiled at the woman who looked dotingly upon Jowan. If this is what he wanted to talk to her about, then she could completely forgive Jowan for acting the fool. She understood the forbidden nature of the relationship. 

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about, Jowan? If so, I am happy for you, but I don’t understand why you felt the need to rush around. You’ve really had me worried.”

Jowan pulled a face before speaking again. Lily touched his arm, offering her support. Taking comfort from the woman he loved, he found the courage to speak.

“You remember when I said that I feared they were going to make me tranquil? I have learned that they really are going to. They will take everything from me, my magic, my love for Lily.” He all but whined the last bit. At the mention of magic, Lily pulled a face. It was apparent that she truly thought magic a sin against the Maker, but then, why was she with Jowan?

“Jowan? Why would they make you Tranquil. I would have heard about your romance if it was known by someone. So. Why are they going to make you Tranquil?” She kept her voice low and even. There was something going on and she was getting a bad feeling about it all.

“There is a rumor going around that I’m a blood mage. I’m not. It is because I have been sneaking around to see Lily.” His protest was a little too loud and quick. Her nervousness at his action was growing. Something else was wrong. “In order to stay with Lily, the two of us need to escape. We are going to leave the Circle.”

“Alright. I wish you the best of luck. I am hoping that you two have a happy life, but, really Jowan. Why did you tell me all of this?”

“We need your help. To be free, really free, I need to destroy my phylactery. It is kept in the repository in the basement.” He was begging her to go against everything that the Circle and the Chantry taught. A trial of conscience but she had to ask herself, if she had this chance with Cullen would she take it?

“I have to think about this, Jowan. You are asking for me not only to break the rules of the Circle but the Chantry as well. Give me a little bit of time.”

Jowan started to protest but Lily seemed to understand.

“Please, reconsider and help us. We will wait here, but we really don’t have very much time.” The woman clung to Jowan’s arm and it appeared that her love was genuine. Isabeux bit her lip and nodded, strands of light brown hair falling in her face. 

Clutching her small bundle close to her chest, she fled the Chantry and ran to her new room, throwing herself on her new bed. Her stomach cramped and tears swamped her. Why couldn’t she have thought of this? Why was she not strong enough to have broken from the Circle before the Harrowing? She sobbed heavily on the counterpane of her bed. She was insensate to the world beyond her heartache and didn’t notice that someone had entered until she felt a hand rubbing her back and offering comfort. She looked up from her pillow to see that Cullen had entered and was looking at her with the most concerned expression she had seen. He leaned in and gathered her to him.

“Shush, love. Can you tell me what is wrong?” He buried his face in her hair as he spoke, wishing life were different. She shook her head, feeling, even then, that she couldn’t betray Jowan and Lily. He pushed her tearstained face up toward him and kissed her ardently.   
“I couldn’t stay away. I wanted to. I need to keep you safe. It would kill me to see you sent to Aeonar because of me.” His lips traveled over her face as he spoke. Her hands clenched against the armor that the Templar wore. Finally when she could speak again, she didn’t want to. She wanted to hold her knight close to her forever.

“If we could run away. Would you? Would you leave the Circle, the Chantry, the Templar’s for me?” Her voice cracked slightly at the question.

“If. If there was a chance I could keep you safe from harm forever, I would. They would find us love and then they would kill us both. You know this as well as I. We can’t have anything more than this. Illicit moments, hidden from other’s eyes.” He pulled back and wiped at her eyes. He looked deep and saw the pain in her heart through her eyes. Choosing to shut out that pain in want of her, he closed his eyes and kissed her lips. “I have heard there is a Grey Warden here. Perhaps he will choose one of us, or both of us and we would have reason to leave the Tower. But those are just desperate wishes.”

She nodded at his words, wishing that she could have heard only what her heart desired but knew that Cullen would only tell her the truth as he saw it. Taking comfort from the tenuous situation he had entered by coming into her room to aid her, she was able to move out of his arms and think about someone other than herself. Cullen merely sat and watched her. He stripped off his gauntlets so that he could touch the softness of her face. At the intimate contact she turned her eyes back to him and realized that she would help, but first she would make a plea to Irving for the safety of her friend. Making that choice, she leaned in and kissed Cullen gently once more. 

“You should leave, Cullen. I would not want you to be punished for our liaison any more than you wish to see me hurt.” Instead of rising immediately, he kissed her again, teasing her lips with his tongue until she opened to him. They shared breath for an eternity that was far too short. His claim upon her soul complete, he slid his heavily armored gloves back on and slipped from the room. Without him in the room, she began to doubt he had ever been there, but her course was clear, she would speak with Irving and plead Jowan’s case.

She fixed her hair and ran to the First Enchanter’s office. Irving, surprised at her entrance, looked questioningly up at his favorite student.  
“Is it true that Jowan is going to be made Tranquil?” She blurted the words out, her emotions still riding high.  
Irving invited her to sit down and collect herself before answering her. He started with inane pleasantries and questions about Duncan, the Grey Warden. Irving was hinting at something, but his meaning was still too obscure for her discern. Eventually, the First Enchanter worked his way around to Jowan and his condition. Irving, it appeared, knew about his relationship with Lily. He confirmed that Jowan was going to be made Tranquil, that there was proof that he was in truth a blood mage. He was surprised to hear that Jowan and Lily had taken it upon themselves to formulate a plan to escape. Irving then proceeded to explain that there was no way to get Jowan out of the Rite of Tranquility, but he would be Damned to the Void if Lily were not also punished for her complicity in the plan. She had, after all, told Jowan about the Rite as well as turning her back on the Chantry for a blood mage. By allowing him to escape would only fuel the rest of societies fear of mages and would give others the wrong idea about what actually went on in the Chantry and Circles. 

Eventually, he won Isabeaux’s support to help the Circle by allowing Jowan and Lily to break the rules and be caught in the act. On the one hand, she believed that Jowan was telling the truth about being a blood mage and wanting out just to be with Lily, she knew in her heart that if he truly got away, life in the Circle would become even harder to bear as the Templar’s forced even more stringent rules against the Mages. She had to choose what was right for the majority of the Circle, not necessarily for just two. She walked slowly to the Chantry and found Lily and Jowan still waiting for her.

“I have decided to help you. Let me know the plan and I will do all I can.” They outlined their plan, which seemed to rely mostly on her deceiving not only the Tranquil in charge of the storerooms, but various other Senior Mages and Templars. She would have been held responsible when all this fell apart and she started to become angry. Why did it all have to depend on her, where was their part in all of this? She completed most of the tasks that they had set her but before she returned to them to start the end of the campaign, she stopped to consider her path. If this played out as Irving wanted, Isabeaux would be found clear of all charges of conspiring with a supposed blood mage, but where would that leave her. She wandered into the library to think and bumped into Duncan. They spoke again about the Wardens and the need for mages in the South. Isabeaux all but begged him to take her with him when he left. He asked her questions about her magic and whether or not she feared it.

“Magic is dangerous. Not only do we have to contend with our own power, we must fight against public scrutiny and the possibility of possession by demons; but it is our own temerity that will get us killed. We need to prove that we are useful, not merely cursed by the Maker.” Her strength of conviction seemed to impress the warrior and she left the library more sure than ever of her path.


	6. Final Break

She entered the quiet Chantry and walked back toward the spot where Lily and Jowan were waiting. Her conscience twanged again knowing that she would be betraying the trust of a fellow mage. There had to be a reason though, beyond the false assumption of Jowan being a blood mage that would cause Greagoir to want to make him Tranquil. They were whispering and looking outwardly with furtive mannerisms. 

“I have everything you asked for, Jowan.”

“Thank the Maker. I knew you could do it.” He reached out and took some of her burden but left the most damning evidence of her assistance in her grasp. Since she had returned, neither Jowan nor Lily looked at or touched each other. Something had changed. “We should get going.” Jowan sounded nervous but not excited at the idea of escaping the tower and certain doom. 

“Is there something wrong, Jowan? Are you having second thoughts?” Isabeaux wanted him to confess his true plan, she could feel him holding back something vital, as if that one piece would motivate her to abandon his cause. Her eyes narrowed as he looked at her and then slid his eyes toward Lily. 

“No. I just. I hate waiting. Let’s get this done.” They walked down to the basement, Lily in front, reciting the chant as if giving a sermon to two penitent mages. Jowan’s step was unhurried but his stride forced the shorter Isabeaux to rush every few steps to keep up. With Jowan as lookout, Lily and Isabeaux entered the basement and headed toward the Victim’s door. Isabeaux had heard of it from the Templar’s when they waxed poetic about subduing the rebel mages in Andraste’s name. Lily seemed proud of her knowledge, one plank for each original templar. She told Isabeaux that it took the touch of a Templar and a Mage, one who had gone through the Harrowing, to open it. Isabeaux’s suspicions grew, but when prompted she used her gift to help open the door. The next door was problematic. Isabeaux had gotten the “rod of fire” as requested but even she could feel that it wouldn’t work. Nothing would. She couldn’t even call upon her talent while standing near the cursed thing. Neither Lily nor Jowan could be dissuaded from their path though. Insistent, they found another door, one that did not feel wrong but led deeper into the catacombs under the Tower.

The “Rod of fire” worked on that door, and the molten lead that had once been a strong lock gave way easily. Isabeaux led the way, not from experience, but because both Lily and Jowan hung back forcing her to lead or leave. Enchanted suits of armor and ghostly mages attached them, protecting the catacombs. More than once, Isabeaux had been cut by the magicked creature’s weapons. She and Lily wore blood as a consequence of their work, but Jowan seemed untouched. 

For hours, they fought the mystical and confusing enemies. Isabeaux was tired, sore and sorry that she had agreed to help either side. Eventually, they reached a repository of artifacts reaching back to the Tevinter Imperium. Lily immediately launched on the evil of magic, especially that of the Tevinter’s. Isabeaux was fascinated though. The artifacts that she saw made her wonder at their usefulness and considered how they were constructed. One or two things that she touched resonated with the blood of men long gone and made her skin crawl, but others reached into her soul and filled it with light. A statue in particular caught her attention, and both she and Jowan were surprised when it spoke with a voice long dead. Lily, however, was not so impressed. Isabeaux wished that she could free the soul trapped within the stone, but when questioned, the statue said it was not necessary. In her heart and mind, she could feel that soul reach out to her and soothe her pains. Murmuring her thanks, out of Lily’s earshot, Isabeaux looked for a way into the Phylactery Chamber and out of the Devil’s bargain she had made. Using an ancient artifact combined with the rod, she managed to blow a hole into the desired room.

The Phylactery Chamber was eerie. Isabeaux put it down to being in the presence of so much trapped energy. She worked hard to find Jowan’s vial, while neither he nor Lily assisted. Frustrated, she felt as if they were building a case against her, to say that the whole thing was her fault. It would have been a good plan, she mused. She found the small bottle holding Jowan’s blood and handed it to Jowan. 

“It is such a little thing. This little bit of blood between me and freedom.” He regarded it for a minute before letting it drop from his fingers. It could have been an accident, but the disturbing grin that graced Jowan’s face a second later disproved that thought. Isabeaux considered what she would have done had her phylactery been there. She wouldn’t have broken it in the Tower; that was certain. She would have kept it on her person until she was free and could release it away from the might of the Templar arm. The task completed, Jowan urged them out. Again, Lily and Jowan waited until Isabeaux led the way. Opening the warded door caused a sharp, shocking pain to move up her arm. Isabeaux looked down and saw a burn mark marring her palm. It was angry and dark and fit her mood with the whole escapade to a tee.

The three of them burst out of the basement and were greeted, immediately by the Knight Commander and a small contingent of Templar. By the stance, Isabeaux could tell one of them was Cullen. Now that it was all over, she was curious as to how it would all play out.

Greagoir boomed about how they had flaunted the rules of the Circle. To give Jowan credit, he took responsibility for what was certainly a death sentence. Lily was not so willing. She started to talk but was interrupted by Irving. 

“Do not blame Isabeaux, Greagoir. She is here by my order.” It was obvious that Greagoir did not believe him, but Jowan did.

“You. You set me up? You lied to me?” As he was talking, Greagoir demanded that Lily be taken into custody to be sent to the mage’s prison Aeonar. The threat toward Lily was too much. Jowan pulled out a knife that Isabeaux had not noticed before and plunged it into his hand. Blood and power flowed out and knocked all of the Templars , as well as the Knight Commander and First Enchanter, out cold. Lily was appalled and Isabeaux was grim. Lily immediately dismissed him as nothing more than an evil mage as she had always known. Her love had been shallow at best. Isabeaux touched his arm and risked his wrath.

“Run. You can do no more here. Run fast and far. Hide well and let them forget you, Jowan.” She shook her head and moved to help the First Enchanter. Jowan waited for a minute or two longer before moving.

“I won’t forget this. I won’t forget your betrayal.” He spit the words at her before he fled from the tower.  
As she tended the First Enchanter she murmured her own promise under her breath. “I won’t forget yours either, Jowan. You lied to me as I did you. The next time we meet, there will be no lies between us.”   
Once she had roused the First Enchanter, she aided the Knight Commander. Again the issue of her guilt came up. Isabeaux knew better than to try and plead her case with Greagoir. She merely watched as Lily was led meekly away. Duncan came to the rescue though. He offered to take her into the Warden’s; an offer which floored Isabeaux. Greagoir was against it fully but Irving pointed out that he was an advisor to the Circle and Chantry; the mages and their disposition were the purview of the First Enchanter. Her new path was determined for her. No longer was Isabeaux a mage of the Circle, but a Grey Warden recruit. She was given a half of an hour to gather her belongings and make her goodbyes.  
The only one to see her before she left was Cullen. This time, they would have no reprieve, no more stolen moments. Instead of waiting, he simply strode forward and took her into his arms, kissing her passionately. When they finally parted they were both breathless. 

“Please, don’t forget me. Even when you find a new love, don’t forget me. I don’t care if that is selfish.” He spoke softly in against her ear as he felt her tears on his cheek. She nodded, unable to speak. They clung to each other making silent promises to one another. “Tell me. One more time. Tell me that you love me. That you are mine.”

“Cullen. Always. I will always love you.” She saw a movement outside her door and knew her time was up. She gathered her things and looked at Cullen. His eyes were bright but dry. His bare hand touched her face reverently before it fell away. She stepped out of the door and looked back at him once more. His eyes met hers before he closed them in heartache. “Always.” Her last words slipped across the room to his ears, caressing him once more. Then she was gone.


	7. Arrival

Duncan just motioned for her to precede him. He told her of his doubts and worries. He even intimated that it wasn’t only he that had this King’s ear. She shook her head. Duncan was wise and obviously a talented and experience warrior. He had not only taught her how to drive a pony cart, but how to shoot a bow and fight with daggers. He had told her, in his own gruff way, that magic was well and good but even a mage can lose strength in casting spells. It was good that she have a back up to protect herself. She was poor at both, but he promised her more training in the days to come. ‘Wonderful, days of being ‘attacked’ by Duncan and the other Wardens with no option to just set them on fire,’ she rolled her eyes but said nothing. He laughed and released her for the time being. He had a few things to take care of. He made her promise to stay within the camp, though she could spend some time exploring it. By the noon meal, he wanted her to find a Warden named Alistair and the two of them would meet at Duncan’s encampment to prepare for the joining ritual.

He left her standing on the edge of a precipice spanned by a bridge. She looked across it at the bustle of the military camp. Behind her were the wilderness and plains, the mountains and lakes that she had passed to get here. This part of her journey was not over but she had been granted a short reprieve to recover herself and to get ready for something bigger. She could feel it beginning to press down on her. For the first time since leaving, she spared a thought for Jowan. He had been in the Circle as long or longer than she. She hadn’t been prepared to be outside, ever, but she had Duncan who had helped make sense of it all. Jowan had no one. He thought of the outside as a safe place with welcoming people. Her smile was wry as she thought about it. She wondered how he was getting along, but only for a second. A guard passed her, glancing at her mage robes. He smiled, and it felt genuine. She had learned the difference between a genuine smile and a forced one since she had been freed. She smiled back.  
“Maker’s blessing on you.” The soldier’s greeting jolted her into action. She returned his salutation and walked off to explore for a bit.


	8. Camp at Ostagar Ruins

“Your head could be decorating some darkspawn spear tomorrow. No? Okay, your loss then.”

Through all the hubbub and bustle of the Ostagar camp, that one line cut through it all and slipped into Isabeaux’s ear. Startled at the closeness, she forced herself to look up and around, stopping just short of running into a dark haired man with a devastating smile. ‘Well,’ she thought, ‘devastating to me. Not so much for the woman he’s talking to.’ The woman in question sneered at the man and stalked off. Undeterred, the man turned watched her walking away, head cocked to best appreciate the view. Isabeaux chuckled softly. When the man jumped slightly and turned around, she realized that she had been heard.

“Hello, beautiful. New in camp? Would you like me to show you… around?” His green eyes twinkled with naughty thoughts and his smile quirked up on one side. She looked at his face and her fingers itched to touch the light scarring on the right, just to see if she could heal it. He stepped closer and his hands started to move to her hips, taking her silence as agreement. As soon as she noticed the movement, she stepped back one step.

“I’ve just arrived with Duncan, the Grey Warden. I’m a recruit.” She grimaced at the shy and stuttering way she spoke. She’d never had trouble with the Templars. This man wasn’t anything like them though.

“Oh! Well, you aren’t what I thought you’d be.” His brows rose high, and his hands dropped back down. 

“What did you think I’d be?”

“Well… not an elf. But here you are, and beautiful too. The offer still stands. I’d be happy to … show you around.” She smiled but shook her head no. Daveth asked if she had heard anything about the Joining Ritual and then spilled what he had heard. With little prompting, he told her how he’d been recruited, eliciting a laugh as she imagined him trying to cut Duncan’s purse. As she grew more comfortable in his presence, he moved closer. His nearness had the effect of befuddling her senses. She knew that she had to visit the Quartermaster for some supplies and find a place to change into the Warden Recruit armor that Duncan had given her. It didn’t look like Daveth’s though, she would have to ask Duncan about the significance of that. Daveth was telling her that they were going to have to rely on one another while recruits. She smiled and started to move away.

“I’ll watch your back, if you watch mine.” She’d heard the soldier’s use the phrase and thought it fitting.

“Oh, I’ll watch your back.” His hand impertinently touched her bottom. She scooted out of arm’s length before shooting back her rejoinder.

“Just… don’t get lost back there.”

“I’ll try to keep my wits about me.” He chuckled and then excused himself to go find Duncan. She watched him walk away and when she was sure that he wasn’t coming back, she approached the Quartermaster. Already flustered and out of sorts from the odd encounter, it took her a minute to understand what the burly man was saying to her.

“You! Where is my armor? And why are you dressed so preposterously?”

His tone was enough to set her teeth on edge. People had been civil if not cautiously polite since she had left the Circle. She was aware that much of that came from being in Duncan’s presence. However, she hadn’t experienced such outright rudeness since before joining the Circle, and combined with the strangeness of it all, she had to struggle not to give into her rising emotions.

“Excuse me? You are aware that you are speaking with a Grey Warden Recruit and a mage… do you not?”

“Oh! Pardon my… I mean… I’m sorry. Pardon my rudeness. With so many elves running about…”

“Perhaps if you treated your servants better, they would be more inclined to complete their tasks with haste, and those that aren’t servants would be more inclined to part with their coin.” She tried to take on the imperious tone that she had heard Wynne use with an errant apprentice. She had seen the woman and nodded at her in passing. News had spread quickly and she was aware of why Isabeaux had come, but not gone to the mage encampment. The woman had even explained to the Templar watching them both like a hawk why she should be allowed to wander freely. The tone worked and she not only got what she needed from the Quartermaster, she got it at a discount for his rudeness. She ducked behind a curtain in his stall and changed her clothing before going in search of Alistair. The quicker she got all of this over with, the sooner she could stop feeling so afraid.

She got turned around, after leaving the Quartermaster and ran into all sorts of people wanting her to accomplish some task or another. The one that broke her heart the most was helping the Mabari hound. The sweet thing was so sick. When the kennel master asked her to muzzle him so that he could be treated, she did not hesitate. She slipped into the small enclosure and knelt close to the dog. He growled half-heartedly at her but submitted to her gentle pets and softly murmuring voice. The animal hardly complained when she slipped the muzzle over its head. She promised she would help as much as she could, and what a good boy he was and other things that she’d heard dog owners say on her journey south and through the camp. Leaving the kennel, the master asked her to look for a specific type of flower in the Wilds, should she go. Isabeaux nodded her assent and moved on trying to find her way, again.

She bumped into the guard, literally, outside of Teyrn Loghain’s tent. After a little persuading, the guard asked the Teyrn if he would grant an audience to the young woman. She hadn’t expected such an imposing man to step out of the tent. He was a warrior as formidable as Duncan. It was no wonder why the King left so many matters to these men. The Teyrn was patronizingly kind but it was obvious that he thought little of the Wardens’ skill in battle. He all but patted her on her head and sent her on her way before disappearing back into his tent. His guard seemed even more puffed up with self importance as she continued her search for the elusive Alistair. 

Eventually she found someone dressed like Daveth, and hoped that either he was, or knew where to find, Alistair. Ser Jory, a self-important, puffed up knight. She listened to him and his drivel about hoping to be good enough to become full Wardens. His words laced with the unconscious bigotry that many human men had about elves and women in general. She clenched her jaw and tried not to say something she would regret, or hit him. Hitting him, however, sounded like a good idea because using magic on him would only cause problems. She startled herself with the angry and aggressive tones of her thoughts. She took a deep breath and then another while the man continued to blather on, trying to reach the calm she’d had moments before.

“I am also a mage, Ser Knight. I believe that as a group we can accomplish anything.” She tried a placating tone and was surprised when he blanched. He stuttered and sputtered about magic and its various evils. The knight was afraid of magic and he wanted to go wading into the horde with only steel at his command? Was he an idiot? Fearing that his lunacy might be catching, she excused herself after asking for directions and headed off to the only part of camp she had not seen. Of course Alistair would be there, she hoped.

Up two flights of stairs, Isabeaux saw two men arguing. She recognized one as a mage that had gone through his Harrowing a few years before. He enjoyed holding status over the apprentices and considered most people younger than him fools. The man he was facing off with seemed unimpressed with this attitude and was poking fun at the mage. She hoped that the non-mage was Alistair, she was tired of wandering around and looking for him. She wanted to end the uncertainty of the day. She did try not to laugh as the argument got out of hand. The mage kept puffing himself up, and the man playing the buffoon kept right on poking at him. Eventually, the mage agreed to whatever the man had asked of him, stomping past her and snarling.

“Isn’t it great how a Blight brings everyone together?” His voice was crisp and youthful and held a great deal of humor. At first glance, she thought it possible that he was as big a fool as the mage claimed him to be, but underlying the mask he wore for the public, she saw intelligence. Not craftiness, not a mean type of intelligence that withheld as much as it gave. 

“I agree completely?”

“It’s like a big party, where everyone can gather around and hold hands. Wait a minute, I don’t know you, do I? You aren’t another mage, are you?” She raised an eyebrow at his question and thought about the answer. Intelligence danced behind brilliant blue-green eyes, distracting her.

“Would that make your day worse? I am indeed a mage.”

“Really? You don’t look like a mage. I mean, how interesting. I’m not going to get turned into a toad or anything like that, am I? It would ruin armor.” He grinned and looked at her for a moment. His hand moved subtly up to his breast plate as if he was trying to remember something. “Wait. I do know you. You are Duncan’s new recruit.”

“Yes. I’m Isabeaux. You, I am hoping, are Alistair. “

“Did Duncan mention me? I hope it wasn’t anything bad. I hope. At any rate, I’m going to be joining you as you and the others prepare for the joining. So, if you’re ready, we should-“

“That argument? What was it about?” His eyes slid to the side like a guilty child having stolen a cookie. He told her how he had been sent by the Revered Mother in the camp to give a message to the mage, who had taken the whole thing wrong, because he, Alistair, had once been a Templar. Her eyes narrowed a bit when he said he’d ‘been’ a Templar. Pushing for a little more information, she found he hadn’t taken his vows like Cullen, but had been recruited shortly before. Noticing that she was mulling over the information, he asked if she had met Ser Jory and Daveth. She nodded absently, not quite ready to speak. He started to move beyond her when she stopped him.

“Can you tell me about the joining?”

“There is not much to tell. We are going into the Wilds to gather some items, and then there will be a ritual.” He was hiding something.

“Please. You can tell me more than that.”

“Alright. All I can really say is that it is unpleasant. Most of it is kept secret for good reason. It’s painful and dangerous and I wish that none of us had to go through it.” His hand moved toward her, as if to take hers. She stepped away and saw a flush of embarrassment stain his cheeks. 

“I’ll be fine. I passed the Harrowing, how much harder could this be?” She tried for a bright sound, but it sounded false to her ears. Alistair, however, relaxed a bit and complimented her on her bravery. He escorted her back to Duncan, for which she was grateful. 

He talked and chatted and twitted people as he passed. His humor was infectious and she smiled as she walked. Duncan was less pleased with his protégé when they returned. Frustrated at the impertinence that Alistair showed toward the other mage, Duncan warned Alistair to watch his step in camp. There was another warning there, not about being a Warden, but another danger. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the men. Finally, Duncan turned and explained the task to the recruits. They were to get vials of darkspawn blood and recover a chest of documents. Isabeaux nodded. As long as someone could help navigate, she would be fine. The men looked down at her for a moment. When she realized that they were waiting for her to lead, she sighed.

“Don’t blame me then if we get lost.”

“We won’t get lost. I’ll keep an eye on where we are, and where we are going. You can trust me, Isabeaux.” Alistair patted her shoulder with friendly affection. She raised her eyebrow as she looked at him, but he just smiled his same goofy smile. Shaking her head, she led the small expedition to the gates, leading to the Wilds and the Spawn.


	9. The Witch of the Wilds

She hated wandering around the Korcari Wilds. The brush dragged at her legs, the stench was unbelievable and under it all was magic that nibbled greedily at her power. Isabeaux was half sure that Ser Jory had wet himself during one of the engagements with the Darkspawn. He had been whining and whimpering since they had found the soldier. 

The poor man had been ripped up, bleeding and broken and still managed to drag himself forward. She and Alistair had done their best to patch him up so that he could get back to camp. Even Daveth, who had been visibly shaken by the ferocity of the soldier’s wounds, had tried to help fix him up. Ser Jory? He stood and gibbered like a loon. He was supposed to be a knight of the realm, one of the best. It was during this time that the three of them learned that Alistair could sense Darkspawn. A useful talent, certainly, but it would have been nice heading into the wilds with that bit of knowledge. They could have finished collecting the vials quickly and focused on finding the documents they needed.

She had found the Wild’s Flower and had to endure Ser Whiny’s complaint about her feminine habit of collecting every little weed. So far she had picked elfroot, and dark mushrooms and one flower. All three were needed in the making of herbal remedies and the like. Jory certainly wasn’t winning any friends in the little party. Isabeaux wondered how he had fared with the other Wardens before she had arrived. She had lost her temper and snapped at him once. There had been a small geyser of boiling water that accompanied her outburst which scared her so much, she refused to talk to Jory or even walk near him for fear of losing control. Alistair touched her arm softly, offering support.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Her head shook no. 

“It’s okay. Well. It’s not okay in that you lost control of your power, that isn’t great, but it is understandable. He has been nothing but disparaging toward you in a manner he hasn’t aimed at either Daveth or myself. Just… just try to ignore him. Concentrate on the task ahead and we will all be fine.” Alistair’s voice filled her with a quiet confidence. It must have to be a part of the Templar training, because they had to deal with mages like this on a daily basis, she reasoned. He stepped away from her and placed himself between her and Jory. Daveth quickly moved to flank him, effectively creating a wall between the opposing members. Daveth smiled and wiggled his eyebrows. Alistair saw it and his brows pulled together as he saw Isabeaux smile at the former theif.

A little later on, Alistair and Jory moved ahead, leaving Daveth walking next to Isabeaux. He touched her arm and held her back a little more than was necessary. Before she could comment, Daveth pulled her into his arms and kissed her quickly. She was too astonished to do anything at first. It wasn’t a sweet kiss, like Cullen’s had been. This one was filled with want and it scared her a bit, but it made her wonder as well. When she closed her eyes briefly, though, it was Cullen’s face she still saw. Shocked by the pain she felt at the image, she jerked back. Her hand to her mouth. She hadn’t even been away from Cullen for a month and already she was kissing another man. Shame flushed her face and she hurried to catch up to Alistair and Jory. Before she reached them, they were set upon by some Darkspawn rogues. They flashed in from nowhere. Once of their blades opened her arm and she responded by setting him on fire. One who had popped up behind her was promptly beheaded by Daveth, who had rushed in. The noise brought the others. Alistair waded in, his blade slicing through the creatures. Jory swung blindly once or twice, his fear making him clumsy. He killed two Spawn but almost hit Alistair as well. 

Alistair held her back from the other two as he bandaged her arm. He kept on a lively patter of nonsense, but his eyes were bright with anger.

“I am sorry, Alistair.” She thought it was her fault they had been set upon. She dropped her head down, like she had as an apprentice. He gripped her chin firmly in his heavily armored glove and pulled it up until her eyes met his.

“No. You did well. I shouldn’t have allowed us to get separated like that. It’s why I hate leading. There is always something that I miss. It’s my fault.” His eyes were hard as flints, a look she had seen often when getting yelled at, or struck, by a Templar. She flinched at the anger, bracing for a strike. Alistair sighed and let her chin go. “The arm isn’t a loss. You did a good job healing most of it. When you are little more rested, finish off the healing first. Duncan needs to get you some good knife training too. They shouldn’t have been able to get that close to you.” He stood and helped her up. With his support, she found a semblance of balance. Just beyond his shoulder she saw what might once have been a tower. Getting his attention, she pointed in that direction.

“Do you think the documents could be there?”

“Maybe. We have enough blood. We just need those documents. You good enough to walk, or do you need help.”

“I can walk. Promise.” She smiled at the light grin that touched his face. She used her staff to help her still wobbly legs and pulled her focus inward to finish healing her arm. It burned along the edges where the creatures sword had bit it. Daveth looked back once, worriedly. She smiled slightly at him too. It hadn’t been his fault. She must have said or done something to encourage him. She watched as he bit his lip and walked alongside Jory, abandoning her to Alistair’s watchful gaze.

The ruin was surrounded by Darkspawn. Daveth who had slipped ahead to scout had counted about ten of the creatures watching and waiting. Isabeaux pulled her brows together as Daveth considered her condition and then suggested that she stay back. Alistair pointed out that while the sentiment was commendable, they needed her assistance, if only to cause chaos through her spells. He nodded as they figured out a plan of attack. Unfortunately, throwing Ser Jory to the small band while they slipped by was not one of the parts. 

Isabeaux looked up and saw one of the creatures ‘wizards’ and considered. For the men, this one was the most dangerous. It would have to be killed first. As they argued whether to attack from the right or left, she slipped up the hill a little further and launched her first attack, freezing the creature. The other Spawn reacted immediately, but she kept her focus on the magic user. The men could take care of the others. Again and again she threw spells at the thing, breaking it down until it fell. Using another spell, she sent the other remaining Spawn into a state of confusion, allowing the men, and her own poor blade skills, to cut them apart.

“Nicely done, Is. Next time though, wait for the rest of us.” Alistair’s lips were quirked but the emotions on his face were mixed. He seemed at once proud of and angry at her. “Now, let’s see if you are right. I’m hoping to get these documents back to Duncan as soon as possible.”  


Is? He had shortened her name to Is? No one had ever done that to her. She narrowed her eyes and decided that she should be angry at him for taking such liberties. As a group they moved closer to the ruin, eyes skimming the landscape looking for more spawn. The ruin was little more than a tumble down tower, but there was a shattered chest in the far curve. The sun was just beginning its downward descent and painted fire on the walls. She knelt down and pried the broken lid. From behind her, she felt a wave of power rise up behind her.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” The voice was made for driving men to acts of passion. Isabeaux looked at the creature and was surprised that she was both human looking and so pretty in a cruel way. Some of the female mages in the tower had this one’s power. They all had a string of lovers. It was hard for Isabeaux not to be a little jealous, as she looked at the men’s faces. They were all enthralled. Alistair, however, was the first to shake off the spell.  


The woman sauntered around the perimeter, taking in the small band of Wardens and then leapt to a crumbled sill to continue her dialogue. Daveth shuddered as her power over his ebbed.

“She’s a Witch of the Wilds.” Then he babbled about being turned into a toad or some such nonsense. Isabeaux wanted to laugh. This woman couldn’t transform another, even if she had mastered the lost art of shapeshifting. The woman was looking at her expectantly. Isabeaux realized that she had been addressed, so she donned her best manners and spoke softly but with strength.

“I am Isabeaux. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The woman, Morrigan, was at first surprised. Then she laughed, proper greetings not being important in the Wilds of Ostagar. After a little discussion, and some antagonizing on Alistair’s part, they determined that Morrigan’s mother had them. Graciously, Isabeaux asked if they could speak to her mother. The request granted, the party of four followed Morrigan through the brush until they came to a small hut with a very odd old woman standing outside.  


Isabeaux quaked inwardly. The old woman reeked of ancient power and all of it would be considered evil by the Templars. Even the clearing pulsed with primal energies. She did her best to be pleasant and polite. Flemeth, the old woman, handed over the documents, speaking in riddles and veiled prophecies. Dark was falling fast and Isabeaux did not want to be caught near this house after dark. Not now. Not ever. The witch released her hold on them and instructed her daughter to lead them back to camp. Morrigan melted into the early dark before the gates and the others strode on through. Isabeaux hung back from them for a moment. Her eyes searched the shadows for their guide, flashing in distant torchlight, she could see Morrigan’s eyes.

“Thank you.” One last courtesy. Turning, she ran to complete her smaller errands before going back to Duncan. The others could tell him what transpired. She needed time to make sense of it herself.


	10. Coming Together and Falling Apart

Duncan was pouring over the old documents when she made her way back to his camp. Bonfires dotted the ruined city making the world look strange to Isabeaux. She only half listened to Alistair as he related the tale of their adventures. He left out Jory’s fear, her injury and a few other things. Isabeaux pointed out that they should tell Duncan about Flemeth and Morrigan. Alistair was more worried about them being Apostates than vessels of a power more ancient that she had ever witnessed. 

The term Apostates shocked her. She had thought Alistair beyond that prejudice of the Chantry, and a little bit of her felt betrayed and afraid of him knowing that. When Alistair looked at her he seemed confused. She realized that she had to better school her face, smoothing it out to a mask of indifference. She should have known he couldn’t be a friend, no one who had Templar training could ever be considered such. Her eyes slid from his and she focused on Duncan. There were a few more preparations for the ritual, but they would be ready tonight. If all went as planned, they would be standing on the field of battle next to the King in the hours before dawn as Wardens. She heard the warning in Duncan’s voice though, this Joining could kill them. Isabeaux felt half dead already. She had given up her life and love to help someone betray her. She had forfeited the memory of that love with an unwanted kiss that ignited her nerves. She couldn’t even work up more than a pale sorrow for the woman she had thought herself to be when she had woken up that morning.

“I am ready.” Her voice surprised her. It was strong and sure, not at all what she was feeling. Duncan seemed surprised but nodded and left to make preparations. Alistair led all of them to the place chosen for the ritual. Isabeaux hung back as the men chatted and walked. She felt sick to her stomach but she would be sent to the Void in a Darkspawn’s maw before she let Ser Jory appear surer than she. Alistair looked back at her once or twice, she could feel his gaze, but refused to meet it. He is not a friend, she told herself. Deep down, he is still a Templar and they all think that magic and those who wield it are evil. He thinks I’m cursed by the Maker. They all do. She let the pity party reign, ignoring the whining of Ser Jory as he argued with Daveth. She agreed with Daveth. After seeing the Darkspawn first hand, she would stop at nothing to make sure they couldn’t hurt those she loved, even if it meant dying. Alistair started to walk toward her, his mouth forming her name, when Duncan walked into the space. 

Isabeaux was always amazed at the fluid power of the Warden. He was a warrior, someone that should be held as an ideal. Duncan would scoff at the idea, she was sure, but his power and charisma was hard to deny. He tried to explain the steps of the ritual, but he was hard to hear over Jory’s gibbering. Isabeaux caught the part of having to drink some of the blood that they had harvested. She knew that her face twisted in disgust, as it had shades of blood magic to it. Well, that, she thought, and drinking blood was fairly nauseating. There were words that were to be said; the start of the journey. Alistair spoke soft yet clear. His words, ringing against the stone, circling the space, before flying to the skies. 

“Join us Brothers and Sisters.  
Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.  
Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn.  
And, should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.  
And that one day, we shall join you.”

The ring of stone sat silent, waiting. 

Daveth was first. His hands shook as he took the goblet. However large a drink he took, it was sufficient. Duncan seemed encouraged at first, but then things went terribly wrong. Daveth grabbed at his throat, gurgling painfully. His body shook and he fell forward, dark spots mottling his skin. Isabeaux wanted to run to the prone figure to try to fix it. He couldn’t be dead, not yet. He was strong and vital and brave. A single tear slipped down her cheek at the waste of such a man.

Jory was to be next, but the coward showed his yellow streak. Worse, he pulled his sword on Duncan. The older, more experienced warrior gave him just one chance to sheathe the sword and do his duty. Jory was not to be compelled and Duncan sank his sword deep in the man’s gut. Blood spurted from the wound as Jory fell. The viciousness of the attack shocked Isabeaux and for the first time since being taken to the Circle she was afraid. Not of the drink, of the taint, but of the man who now faced her.

Duncan was holding out the goblet to her. She had a choice drink or die. She took the heavy metal cup and closed her eyes. She begged the good spirits to take Cullen one final message of love from her. She did not believe she would wake after taking a drink. Her hands shook, cold with fear. The brew inside was cloying, salty and thick. One mouthful was all she could manage, more and she would wretch the whole of it up. Duncan took the goblet and watched for the reaction. A burning spread from her stomach all over her body. Her head ached and the world spun. She clutched at her throat as something tried to crawl out of her. Maker, she hurt more than she ever had. Suddenly, she went blind. Panicked, she reached out to reconnect for the world.

With a swiftness that terrified her, a huge monster appeared before her. It screamed with anger but it called and caressed her soul none the less. She wanted to follow that calling, though she knew it would be her downfall. Slowly, the vision faded and she was recalled back to her body. Every bone in her body ached. She pulled off her leather gauntlet and looked at her hand. The burn she received helping Jowan had turned black and oozed a bit. She prodded at it. Spurts of electricity shot out, burning the ground. The liquid was white and viscous. Duncan grabbed her hand and looked at it, pressing on it making the pain intense. When the infection had been purged, he grabbed a piece of cloth from the ritual table and wrapped it. Isabeaux looked up at Duncan, but the man was all concern for her wound. Gone was Jory’s killer and in his place a firm father taking care of his child. He took some liquid from a vial in his belt pouch and poured it over the wound and binding.

Alistair stepped forward, his face filled with concern too. He talked about his joining and how only one of them died, but how it had still been awful. Had he been friends with those recruits or had he only known them for a day? Had Duncan been forced to bury a knife in the dead man’s belly? She couldn’t voice any of this, she felt unclean around these men; sick to her stomach. Alistair handed her a small amulet. He explained that it was a part of the ritual, some of the blood that they had collected. She could feel a resonance from the metal, and took it from Alistair. He watched, but she made no move to put it on. There were questions in his eyes. She was unwilling to acknowledge them. Duncan broke into the uneasy silence.

“The King wishes your presence at a meeting. Rest for a few minutes, and gather yourself. The wound will close quickly, but might pinch a bit as it does so. When you are ready, come to the meeting.”

Isabeaux nodded and sat on a stone bench between the dead bodies of Daveth and Jory. She was quiet as she listened to the night settle around her. Someone in the camp was singing, but it seemed so distant and removed from where she was. She apologized to both men lying dead at her feet. It wasn’t her fault, but she felt responsible. A memory teased at the edges of her mind. She could almost remember the people of the Alienage singing when a member of the community past. She cast her mind back, searching for the song of comfort and journeying.  
“vir sulahn'nehn  
vir dirthera  
vir samahl la numin  
vir 'lath sa'vunin' “  
Isabeaux didn’t know the meaning of the words, but they gave her comfort. She could feel the grief of the men’s passing fade. Looking up, she saw Alistair watching her. His eyes glassy with unshed tears. He wasn’t as unfeeling as the Templars she had known. She had to remember that. He had helped with her wound and been nothing but kind to her on the journey. He felt as deeply for the loss of the two men as she did, perhaps more, because he knew what they would face. She allowed her eyes to meet his, trying to come to an understanding, with him, about him, she was not sure.

She gathered her things and walked down to meet the King, and Duncan and the rest. A pressure settled against her chest. It was warning her to be wary in this meeting. Alistair had not moved, only pivoted to watch her pass, silently. 

As she approached, the King and the Teyrn were arguing. The King stated that he believed they should wait until the Orlesian forces were to arrive. The Teryn was livid. He goaded the King, stating that if the Wardens were as proficient as the legends stated than the horde outside the gates would be no problem. Isabeaux cocked her head to the side. The Teyrn was either hiding or planning something. She had heard that he, the Teyrn, had been instrumental in ridding Ferelden of its Orlesian rulers but in his voice she heard more than disdain. She heard hatred. Isabeaux wasn’t sure who the hatred was aimed toward, but it was certainly there. She listened as the plan was drawn up, not looking at the assembled, simply listening. The King pointed out that the most important decision that needed to be made was who would light the signal fire in the Tower of Ishal. She cast her mind adrift and pictured the Tower, the one she had walked by just that morning. The King decided that she and Alistair would be the ones to light it. Duncan smiled slightly at the news. The Teyrn and Uldred, one of the most vocal mages in the Circle, argued against it. They were complaining far too loudly for it to be genuine concern. They were planning something. Isabeaux’s eyes narrowed but she graciously accepted the assignment from the King. When the meeting ended, Duncan found Alistair and told the both of them to catch some sleep. He would wake them up in a few hours, well before dawn.

Isabeaux moved to her bedroll, checking to see that her things were tightly packed in a sack that would be easy to keep with her. It was a precaution that Duncan had told her time and again to take. She laid down but her eyes wouldn’t close. She heard a shuffling near her and she searched out the sound. 

Alistair stood over her for a second, as if lost. When he saw that she was awake, he sat by her bedroll so that she wouldn’t have to get up. Isabeaux waited for a minute or two to see if he would speak, but he seemed to be hesitant to start. She rolled to her side and looked at him, then reached out and touched his knee. He jumped at the touch, but didn’t move.

“What is it Alistair?” Her voice was hushed, in case there were others asleep nearby. She could hear sounds that were definitely not snores, but she chose to ignore them.

“Who is Cullen?”

“Someone I knew once.” She didn’t know how much to tell him. Speaking of Cullen made her ache but she must have called out his name at some time. She waited until he spoke again.

“When you blacked out, you called out Cullen. Your voice was soft, and it made me wonder. Who was he?” His hand tentatively reached out and stroked her cheek once, so gently it might not have happened. She sighed but chose to confide in him.

“When I was in the Circle, I met him. It isn’t allowed for mages to have the feelings I had, but you can not stop them.”

“Did he love you too?”

“Yes.”

“I’m. I’m sorry Isabeaux.” He brushed his hand against her cheek again, then leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for telling me.” She nodded.

“Alistair? Could you stay here, next to me? Not, intimately, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she felt him stretch out and lie down.

“You are safe with me Isabeaux. I won’t let anyone harm you.” She rolled until her back was to him and felt his arm wrap around her waist. His warmth and promise allowed her to slip into a dreamless void. There were no images of Cullen to pinch at her heart, no monsters to make her quake. Duncan found them like that, bundled like children against a harsh world. He let them rest a little longer. The song was strong in him, and he wasn’t sure he was going to survive the fight but they would. He had done all in his power to protect Isabeaux and Alistair. At least, they would have each other to rely on.


	11. Falling in Battle

Alistair came awake before Isabeaux. Slowly he disentangled himself from her. Her warmth continued to draw him in and moving away was a struggle. Duncan woke Alistair first, to give the man time to compose himself. The cold air hit Isabeaux across the back though and she came awake immediately, jerking upwards. Duncan chuckled slightly at her discomposure. It was still and dark, the few not assembling on the battlefield were moving quietly, trying not to attract attention. 

Isabeaux looked at the sky. The wind had picked up and the few remaining bonfires were reflected in the swiftly moving clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance, angry and ominous. 

“Gather your things. Keep them with you. You two are to go light the signal fire at the Tower of Ishal.”

“What? We won’t be in the battle?” Alistair sounded shocked and hurt at the decision. Duncan tried telling him it was at the King’s command, but he didn’t hear him. Isabeaux kept her mouth shut. She would have preferred to fight alongside Duncan as well, but she had been in the meeting. She didn’t trust the Teyrn or Uldred, but it wasn’t her place to second guess men with a keener understanding than she. Alistair and Duncan talked around and around, but Alistair didn’t seem to be any closer to understanding.

“The King commands us, Alistair. I want to be in the fight too, but we have a job to do. We can join the battle once we are done though… right?” She tried to sound hopeful.

“No. Stay with the Teyrn’s men. That way if we need you, we know where to find you.” The specifics of the task were hammered out. Isabeaux and Alistair were clear on what they had to do. Alistair’s face still held a sullen expression.

“Just so you know, if the King wants me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m going to draw the line.” 

“I don’t know. I’d like to see that.” Isabeaux didn’t actually mean to say it out loud. Duncan rolled his eyes and sighed at the foolishness. Alistair leaned in and whispered in her ear.

“For you, maybe. But it has to be a pretty dress.” Isabeaux felt the blush rush up her neck and color her cheeks. She was grateful for the darkness. Duncan turned and gathered a few things to take with him. Alistair called out before the man could leave. “Duncan? Maker watch over you.”

“Maker watch over us all.” His voice was tired and she sensed that he knew what was wrong. Silently, Duncan moved out of the encampment and toward the battlefield. She looked at Alistair and when he motioned with his head toward the bridge leading to the tower, she nodded. 

It felt as if the Maker had chosen the moment they left the gate behind to open the heavens and the good spirits wept down upon them. Lighting split the sky and in the eerie light the combined forces could see the Spawn amassing on the field. Isabeaux only had a glimpse and felt her heart stop. The roar of the wind was cut by a whistling sound and then a blast of light hit the top of the Tower of Ishal. Alistair and Isabeaux could feel bits of stone shrapnel as part of the Tower exploded. 

“We have to get to the Tower. We have to light the beacon.” Alistair’s words were hard to hear over the roar of the battle. Fire battered at the bridge, already too thin across the precipice. Dogs howled to be let loose and fight from below the battlements. Isabeaux sprinted across the bridge, intent on crossing it before it crumbled. Her steps had been swift, but the heat of one blast lifted her up and slammed her into the remains of a statue, the hand of fate swatting at a fly. She pushed herself up, dizzy and sore. Alistair hadn’t fared much better but at least he was standing. She motioned for him to keep moving, but he shook his head and helped her up. Her head reeled from pain and smoke. Still lifeless bodies lay around her. The fates had saved her and Alistair again. Isabeaux was beginning to hate Fate.

They had just crossed the gate on the other side when a wall of fire erupted behind them. The screams of the dying temporarily drowning out the sound of battle. Isabeaux spared little thought beyond killing the Spawn she found boiling up from the shadows. The walking wounded tried to help, but often got in the way of her and Alistair’s attempts. She pushed her power into Alistair’s weapon, making it deadly cold, freezing the enemy within. It appeared to shock him at first, but then he wielded the weapon with a savage glee. For a few moments, she played a support role to his killing, healing any ally she got near but with the beating she received on the bridge, she found herself getting tired quickly. Having cleared out the Spawn before the Tower, she took a moment to sit and rest. Alistair was a gore covered mess and found some stagnant water to wash the burning, black blood from his face. He came back with a mostly clean cloth and wiped at her exposed skin too. The cool water was a welcome reprieve to the choking ash that had been present since the battle began. 

Behind them, the Tower doors looked quiet and serene. There were no sounds of fighting within, and when Alistair had pointed it out, she merely laughed. Nothing else had gone right that battle. Why would they get a break now? She dug into her pack and grabbed a bottle of Lyrium, to bolster her ability. Alistair glared at the bottle. Isabeaux thought it odd, just for a moment before she drank it. The Lyrium cleared her head enough that she could heal some of the greater aches and pains that she was feeling, and fix the wounds that were seeping blood on Alistair.

“How do you think Duncan fares?” Her question caused Alistair to get up.

“He is probably having a better time of it than us. Still… I wish…” His voice was scratchy from the smoke.

She shook her head, interrupting him. She pushed herself up to her feet and resituated her gear. It would do no good to wish. They had a job to do. Alistair, seeing her move, did the same. When they were ready, they grabbed two guards who looked relatively undamaged and burst into the Tower.

If the outside had been hellish, inside the Tower was the deepest part of the Void. The pulsing heartbeats of the Spawn echoed from every shadow. This would be one of the hardest fights she had ever known. The Circle and the Chantry had done each and every mage a disservice, keeping them from knowing this evil. They had only preached restraint. Here, there was only excess. Not caring about Alistair’s sensibilities, Isabeaux reached deeper into her pool of magic, stretching her limits. If she fell in this stone coffin, it would not be for lack of trying. 

She rushed ahead, seeing a thin wire across the doorway. She had just disarmed one trap, when one of the guards set off another. Fire exploded everywhere. More pain. More burning. She healed the guard and then set about immobilizing as many Spawn as she could. She let the men finish them off, she didn’t care who killed them. A magic wielder enveloped her in a sticky green cloud that slowed her movements. Instead of trying to fight back with magic, she unstrapped her bow and took aim. She didn’t have much time, but it felt satisfying to see the arrow loose and pierce the eye of the creature. The cloud immediately let up, and Isabeaux went back to slinging whatever spell she had at her command at the Spawn. Slowly, they cleared each room. Killing the Spawn. Helping survivors. 

Isabeaux’s heart went out to the Mabari Hounds trapped inside the Tower. They fought valiantly by her side, ripping the enemy apart. Alistair, sensing her distress at the animals’ trapped state, sent one of the guards with the dogs, to release them outside. They could take their chances alongside the rest of the survivors. Up the last flight of stairs, they heard heavy footsteps thumping on the floor above. Nothing they had seen has been so large. Isabeaux wanted to stop, rest, just for a minute. Her energy was almost gone, her magic nothing more than a memory. Alistair, sensing her distress, helped her to sit down. He opened her pack and took out some healing potions and Lyrium for her to use.

“We have to get up there. It’s the last flight. Once we are there, we can light the signal fire, and then focus on defending just that room. Once Teyrn Loghain makes the charge, we should be okay.” He kept his tone light. He understood now, that Duncan hadn’t necessarily saved their lives, but he had tried to. What should have been a fairly easy task had fallen to more evil machinations. With the stink of magic, Isabeaux was willing to bet that Uldred had something to do with it. In the meeting, he had been all promises of how ‘his mages’ would be able to provide the signal. If this failed, he could crow about how he’d been right. It wouldn’t help the soldiers fighting, but he’d do it anyway. She walked over to one of the window slits. As high up as they were, she would have thought she couldn’t hear the battle. The stars above, now visible through the battlefield smoke and clouds seemed so distant. The roar was still terrifyingly loud. She felt tears, unwanted, streak down her face. She rubbed at them, smearing gore across her cheek. Isabeaux was afraid. She didn’t want to die. Not in a Tower. She had escaped the Circle. If she were to die, she wanted it to be under the stars, preferably of old age. Far off, in the distance, she could see the beginnings of the red light of dawn. They had to hurry. 

Taking a deep breath, she drank down the last of her potions and grabbed her gear. With the men arrayed behind her they burst through the last door, to find the biggest Spawn she had ever seen. She didn’t have a name for it, but Alistair did. Through the long list of expletives she caught one word. Ogre. The creature bellowed and ran for her. ‘Of course it would,’ she thought. She slowed it with an ice spell and ran quickly to the other side of the room. Spell after spell she battered at it. The thing picked up one of the guards and shook it like a child with a naughty doll. The guard’s lifeless body was flung at her, narrowly missing as she dodged. Once again, it tried to come after her. It was almost a farce. She’d fire spells at it, slowing it down, allowing her to run and the men would rush in and beat on it with swords. The thing had to be dying, soon. Or they all would. Finally, she trapped it in a crushing prison spell and Alistair caught it on his sword. Bellowing loudly, the creature died. The vast amounts of blood made the floor slick. She slipped a few times getting to the signal fire. It took her a time or two to get her flames working before she lit it. With a ‘whoosh’ the tinder went up. The whole of the room seemed filled with light. They had done it! Victory was sure to be theirs. From the broken windows they heard the cheers of the men, but the sounds of fighting went on.

Alistair was verifying that the Ogre was indeed dead, when they heard the sound behind them. A thwip of an arrow caught the last of their guard comrades in the throat. Before, Isabeaux could marshall her magics, she had been hit with five arrows. The pain immense, she fell back. From a distance, she could hear Alistair yell, but she didn’t care. The world was fading. Part of her fought back, remembering that she didn’t want to die in the Tower. She didn’t have a choice though. The Maker was calling her home.


	12. A New Start

The world was a spinning mass of pain. Isabeaux didn’t think that death was supposed to hurt this much. She tried to open her eyes, but it was more than she could bear. Soothing hands smoothed her brow. Hot pain was replaced with cool relief. She could hear the soft cries of someone nearby. Isabeaux wanted to offer comfort, but could not find her way. She felt lips against her forehead and thought, ‘Father.’  


“No. Not your father.” Isabeaux thought she heard laughter, but could not respond. She cast her mind about but could not find a face for the voice. It didn’t matter. The good spirits would show her what she needed to know, in time.  


Slowly the pain ebbed. Still, it was too much effort to open her eyes, choosing to lie still as death most days. Time had no meaning beyond feeling her wounds knit together. Soon, though, Isabeaux became aware of someone moving near her. This time, she could not stop it. Her eyes opened and she saw someone moving around. The woman was familiar, but Isabeaux couldn’t place her immediately. It was when the woman spoke, that Isabeaux remembered Morrigan from the Wilds; from when Daveth and Jory were still alive. Tears seeped down her cheeks as regrets swamped her; making her wish others could be here, in her place.  


“Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother will be pleased.”  


“Mother? Wait. What happened to the Darkspawn?” Isabeaux looked at her body, she was as bare as a newborn babe. A stain flushed her cheeks with embarrassment and she hastened to cover up with the bed’s blankets.  


“You were injured. Do you not remember?” Isabeaux shook her head, no. Her hair had been loosened from its habitual knot and fell about her shoulders, hiding some of her nakedness but not her discomfort. She needed answers almost as much as wanted clothing. It turned out that she was of the last of the Grey Wardens. The rest of their fellows had fallen on the field of battle because the signal flame was not answered. She almost died at the top of a stone tower and the rest, including the King, had been left to die when Teyrn Loghain had quit the field. If she got out of here, Isabeaux would tell the world of the treachery of Loghain. She would go to the Circle first, and explain it all to Irving. He would understand. He would help her. Duncan had been his friend. When queried further, Morrigan said that there were few survivors from the battle, and most of them had scattered. Many of the wounded and dead were left as a feast for the Spawn. More tears pricked at the corners of her eyes when she thought of the mighty warrior and hoped futilely that he was still alive. Isabeaux wiped at them with the back of her hand, trying to hide her sorrow.  


“Were my injuries severe, Morrigan?” She saw no marks on her body, but there was the tingling awareness that time had passed.  


“Yes. But it was nothing mother couldn’t cure. She wanted to see you when you awoke.”  


“One more thing. Alistair. Is he?” Isabeaux wasn’t sure that she could handle knowing he was dead, but needed to hear it all the same. He, obviously, had done much to keep her alive until she could be rescued.  


“He is well, as you are now. Although he has acted childishly, veering between denial and grief since Mother told him about the battle.” Isabeaux did not want to tell her that the Wardens were Alistair’s family, closer than blood. It was not her tale to tell. She was merely grateful that he too had survived.  


“If I may have my clothing, I will go out to your mother. Thank you for your help, Morrigan. I appreciate it.” Morrigan was obviously uncomfortable with the gratitude, and handed Isabeaux her clothing, all cleaned and neatly mended. Then Isabeaux took her pack and staff from Morrigan before heading out of the hut.  


The bright light hurt her eyes at first. The world had no business being so brightly lit when so many lay dead. She heard Morrigan’s mother call out to Alistair announcing her presence. Her vision cleared just in time to see Alistair turn toward her. He looked so handsome, and so sad. She wanted to comfort him, but now was not the time. He smiled slightly, as if surprised to see her standing in front of him. His hand came up and touched her arm tentatively, eyes flashing. She could do little but blush at his regard. So little seemed appropriate to say, so she chose to compliment Flemeth on her healing skills. When he started to agree, the woman discussed broke in. She was impatient for the two of them to take up their duties. Flemeth quizzed Alistair, as was right since he was senior, but he deferred to Isabeaux.  


For her part, Isabeaux wanted to throttle him. He was hiding from leadership, but she couldn’t figure out why. She held her tongue and wished that the two of them were alone, just for a minute. Isabeaux took up the conversation when Alistair wouldn’t. She reasserted that they had to go after the Archdemon, and the treaties. Alistair wanted them to go to Arl Eamon in Redcliffe. He was near adamant at the visit. Isabeaux raised her eyebrow at his insistence, but did not argue. When she was sure of his conviction, she thanked Flemeth and prepared to leave. The Witch in the Wilds was not ready for them to leave just yet. She wanted them to take Morrigan along on the journey. Isabeaux couldn’t care less if the woman came with them or not. Alistair, however, complained very loudly. It took her a minute. It must have been because she was an apostate, although he seemed uncomfortable around her.  


“Alistair, we need all the help we can get.” Isabeaux touched his arm. Alistair jumped and looked at her. He smiled sheepishly at her raised eyebrow.  


“You’re right.” His eyes slipped toward Morrigan and he blushed. Isabeaux didn’t know whether to grin or grimace. It was obvious to Isabeaux that he found the woman attractive. She painted a smile on and tried hard to look oblivious. Morrigan just glared at Alistair. The look she gave Isabeaux was only slightly less disgusted. ‘How wonderful,’ Isabeaux thought, ‘she doesn’t even want to come along.’ Isabeaux was going to have to make the best of the situation, as it was clear that neither of her companions were going to make the effort.  


“We should get going before we lose the light. Regardless of what magic your mother has done to keep the Spawn away; it won’t help us much on the road.” Isabeaux tried for nonchalant and sounded pushy. She untied the knot in her hair to give her an excuse to move away from the other two, under the pretense of needing to fix her hair. She felt Alistair move up behind her, but she was no longer in the mood to speak with him.  


“Isabeaux.” Her name was a whisper on his lips. His hand touched her shoulder but she shrugged him off.  


“Let’s get going.” Her eyes never wavered from the path ahead. Shouldering her pack and staff, she set off, not caring if they followed. Morrigan chuckled at something but Isabeaux told herself she didn’t care.  
The early afternoon was eaten up with paths like the ones she had traveled with Daveth and Jory. She could feel Flemeth’s magic doing its best to steer the Spawn away from the group. Only once did a small group come close. Before the others could react, Isabeaux plunged to the depths of her power. Her hands spun a small storm to attack the Spawn, while keeping the others safe behind a forcefield. She stood in front of them, protecting them while giving the Spawn a target. None of them got close, falling before her deeper magic. When the last of them fell, Isabeaux dropped the shield and started to walk again. She had taken about ten steps before Alistair was on her, grabbing her by she shoulders and spinning her around.  


“What do you think you were doing?” He shook her by the shoulders. His expression thunderous; anxiety making him rough. She knocked his hands away from her and glared right back at him.  


“My job. There are only two of us left, and of the two of us, I am the biggest liability. I’m an elf and a mage. No one will listen to me like they will you. You are male, human and NOT a mage. Did you think of that?” Free of his hands, she stepped back and fought not to cry. She wouldn’t cry over him, or because of him. It was bad enough that her ego was feeling bruised. “At any rate, I’m expendable. You have another mage now.” The last was spoken at barely a whisper.  


“What?” He stepped toward her again and was shocked when she retreated at the same pace. Isabeaux shook her head, she wouldn’t repeat what she said. She reflected that she had horrible taste in men, she should have known she wouldn’t have had a chance against a woman like Morrigan. Isabeaux turned and walked away, telling herself it had all been her imagination. He had never felt any more for her than he would a sister or friend. She felt so stupid.  


For the rest of the day, Isabeaux didn’t talk to anyone. She didn’t trust her traitorous mouth. She and Alistair had nothing in common, beside being Grey Wardens, and had only known each other for a few days, regardless of the time that had passed since meeting him. “I am supposed to be in love with Cullen, why am I even interested in Alistair anyway?” She let her thoughts swim around in her head, the guilt making her sick to her stomach. Isabeaux considered apologizing to Alistair but decided that it would just make things worse. Night was beginning to fall and they had to make camp soon. Alistair took charge, divvying up the duties between the three of them. He didn’t talk to either woman after that.  


“He keeps looking at you.” Morrigan’s voice was filled with mirth as she slinked up to Isabeaux. For her part, Isabeaux didn’t even look up.  


“I’m sure he just wants to tell me to back off or something. Perhaps he’d like to tell me how stupid I’ve been. Regardless, I don’t want to hear it.” Her voice was defensive and she hated explaining herself to the woman. Morrigan hesitated a minute before stepping away from Isabeaux. The other woman didn’t walk over to Alistair though, instead, she watched the two Wardens avoid the other’s gaze.  


Dinner was a silent affair. Isabeaux drew the first watch. Morrigan settled down to take second watch, but Alistair didn’t move to his bedroll. In the distance, they heard a low howl. It sounded like despair and tugged at Isabeaux’s tender heart. Alistair moved silently toward her and was behind her before she realized. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, pinning her to him.  


“I don’t know what is going on with you. With… us. We need to talk about it. It is okay if we don’t do it tonight, but soon. I. I can’t lose you like I lost Duncan. We need to stick together you and I.” He stood behind her and waited until most of the tension had left her. Together, they listened to the sounds of the Wilds and wondered what poor animal was crying so in despair.  


The smoke of the morning fire choked Isabeaux awake. Coughing and rubbing her eyes, she looked blearily at Alistair as he tried to start wood that was obviously to wet to light. She focused her power and a thin flame shot from her fingertip, drying and igniting the wood.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” Alistair’s voice was rough and petulant. She raised an eyebrow and looked at him.

“You would rather we all choke on smoke an alert the Spawn as to where we are? Alright. Next time I’ll do that.” She jerked herself off her bedroll and started to break camp, leaving Alistair and Morrigan to make something to eat. Morrigan just looked at the two of them for a moment and then slipped from the camp. Grumbling, Alistair dug into their provisions and started to make breakfast. He looked up a few times, expecting Morrigan to waltz back in at any moment. Isabeaux told herself she wasn’t watching him, she was keeping an eye out for Morrigan as well. They needed to be prepared should the witch get into trouble. With most of the gear packed and ready to be carried Isabeaux was at a loss as to what to do next. She sat opposite Alistair, not wanting to talk to him. He watched her for a minute or two before shaking his head and finishing the cooking. He slid a third of something onto a wooden plate and pushed it at her. Alistair was obviously unsettled around her too. She poked at the glop on her plate with a utensil, unsure of what it was or had been. Her fellow Warden was shoveling it in, watching her.

“What?” Isabeaux almost laughed at the comic look on Alistair’s face. 

“What is this?” She poked at the glop again before looking up at him.

“Food. Eat. It’s good, trust me.” Isabeaux leaned in and smelled it. The only food she could identify over the smoky burnt smell was cheese. She tried a little bite and almost spit it out. ‘How could he eat this?’ Alistair was still watching her, unmoving, waiting. She rolled her eyes and took a bite. It was still noxious, but it made him happy to have her eat. He settled a bit more and finished his plate. “Should I go find her?”

Isabeaux looked at him. “She is probably taking care of her needs. Give her a bit of time. It isn’t like she doesn’t know we are moving on. She will either be back or not, and if she isn’t back when we leave she will catch up or she won’t.” 

Alistair seemed surprised at her words. “You don’t like her do you?”

“I don’t know her. She isn’t exactly the most open person I have met. I haven’t done much to fix that either, so it’s partly my fault.” Isabeaux shrugged.

“I think she’s a bitch.” The words were spoken without venom, as if he were commenting on the weather.

“You don’t know her either, Alistair. It doesn’t help that she was thrown at us by her mother. She probably resents the situation as much as you do.”

“I don’t have to know her. I know her kind.” He walked over and took her plate, although she had only taken one or two bites beyond what he’d watched her eat.

Isabeaux stayed still. She wanted to ask what he meant by that, but it wasn’t the time. They needed to get moving, Morrigan or no. She dug into the pack and grabbed an apple before calling out Morrigan’s name. The witch seemed to materialize from nothing when her name was called. Isabeaux smiled slightly in admiration. Alistair merely scowled. 

“You didn’t want Alistair’s morning fare either, hmmm?” The purr in Morrigan’s voice always set Isabeaux on edge, but she tried hard to ignore it. She shrugged at the comment, not giving either party a reason to pick at her.

“Are you ready to leave? I’d like to try to get to Lothering today.”

“Not possible. Not the way we are traveling. Tomorrow at the earliest. Although if we push hard, we can get there early afternoon tomorrow.” Morrigan spoke with such confidence, Isabeaux had to believe her. The woman picked up her share of the traveling gear and without complaint started to walk. Isabeaux and Alistair rushed to gather the last bits and catch up. Isabeaux was happy to not have to lead for a bit. After a while, however, she found herself at the front of the group and sighed. ‘Perhaps it is because they think that every elf has a perfect sense of direction.’ Isabeaux would have asked, but the other two were bickering again behind her. They were so loud that she almost missed the mournful cry of the night before. She stopped and looked around. A rough wooden fence lined the road, protecting what once would have been fertile farmland. There was a snarling bark and some scrabbling among the weeds before she could make out the shape. 

A Mabari Hound was running toward her, slowing as he came near. Before she could touch the dog, it spun around, faced the road and snarled. Danger was coming hard on the poor dog’s heels. She stood up and saw the odd headdress of a magic wielding Spawn. Isabeaux wanted a fight and pulled out her staff. The sliding ring behind her let Isabeaux know that Alistair was ready as well. Her fellow warden rushed forward to attack the Spawn while she and Morrigan simultaneously hindered the creatures progress. The Mabari jumped in and out of the fray, making sure that no Spawn got close enough to Isabeaux to do any damage. As if by silent agreement, Morrigan took care of the creatures nearest them and Isabeaux helped Alistair out from a distance. The band of twenty spawn fell quickly to blade, tooth and magic.

After the battle, the hound walked up to Isabeaux and sat. She laughed lightly and bent down to scratch his ears. Infatuated with her, the dog leaned in and then rolled onto his back, showing his belly and begging for rubs. Isabeaux obliged and felt happy for the first time in days.

“That’s a Mabari, one from Ostagar it looks like. Maybe even the one from the kennel you visited. He’s chosen you; it’s called imprinting.” Alistair had walked up to the side but didn’t join her in giving affection to the dog. When Isabeaux looked up at Alistair, he was looking at her with a smile, not the hound.

“If it’s the same hound, the Kennel Master told me his name was Reaper.” The Mabari rolled back over and without getting off his belly, snarled at her. Shocked, she jerked back her hand.

“I think he’s trying to show you that you are right. He’s just showing his teeth. If the name his first master gave him was Reaper, that was probably why. A learned identifier maybe. Who’s a good Mabari?” The dog jumped up at Alistair’s last words barking happily. Morrigan complained, as was her wont, but Isabeaux was happy to have the hound join them. When they resumed their trek, the dog stayed next to Isabeaux at the front of the pack, leaning into her occasionally, sure that he would get absentminded ear scratches at they walked.


	13. While in Lothering

“There’s Lothering. Pretty as a painting.” Alistair’s hand swept out in front of him to take in the whole of the little village. People were wandering everywhere. Makeshift tents and bedrolls were guarded by watchful mothers. Men spoke in hushed tones eying every newcomer as a threat to the tenuous social fabric. Only the children, uprooted by their parents, seemed unaffected. It was possible that banditry had become commonplace. Isabeaux brushed at her clothing as if to remove the stains of such filth from her body. As they had neared the settlement, the Darkspawn became fewer and the bandits more numerous. She had made quite a bit of coin fleecing the bodies of the dead men. She’d also found a few items that would need to be passed on to their rightful owners, having been obviously looted from others. Alistair had disapproved of her mercenary manner, but Isabeaux explained that they would need to pay for supplies; wardens or no. 

“Ah, you have finally decided to rejoin us. Falling on your blade too much trouble.” Morrigan had decided that needling Alistair was a fun game. Isabeaux found it decidedly less so, as she was constantly trying to rein the two of them in. For now, as she looked over the ruined fields and shabby buildings, she ignored them. Alistair touched her arm to get her attention. Isabeaux turned her full attention to Alistair, apparently startling him somewhat, because he didn’t speak for another few seconds. She was about to turn her head when he continued with what he was going to say. They had to formulate a plan to obtain agreements from the groups the treaties named. Isabeaux nodded, she knew all this. Her mind had been trying to decide the order in which to best way to accomplish that task, but she was sure that Alistair wouldn’t like it. She wanted to put off the trip to Redcliffe as long as possible. Every so often, Alistair would suggest the best way to get to Arl Eamon’s domain, but there was something off about his push to go. Isabeaux was determined not to head there unless it was absolutely necessary and Alistair came clean about why it was important. She wanted to go to the Circle first. She’d had an uneasy feeling the past few days whenever she thought about the place and she was worried about her friends. More than that, she was worried about Cullen. The other two treaties would fall into place after her trip to the Circle. Isabeaux didn’t want to announce her intention right away though, because she knew that both Morrigan and Alistair would protest. They had, however, put her in charge. She supposed someone would have to be, it might as well be her… for now. 

Isabeaux leaned on a stone balustrade and considered the village. If they were lucky, there would be an inn and it wouldn’t be packed with refugees. If her luck continued on as it had for the past few days, they would be lucky to share a cave with a grouchy bear. She looked down at the hound and gave his ears a rub. 

“What do you think boy?” Isabeaux had discovered that the dog understood at least eighty-five percent of what she said. The dog looked up and whined a bit before licking his chops. “Reaper, thinks we should re-provision and gather some news before making any firm decisions.” As if agreeing, Reaper barked.

Alistair chuckled and pet the dog. “Alright then.” Morrigan sneered. Reaper trotted over to get pets from the witch but she complained loudly that she didn’t like domesticated creatures and that he smelled. The dog hung his head and meandered back over to Isabeaux. She reached out and rubbed his ears some more. Isabeaux led the way into the village. She listened to the conversations of the villagers and refugees, forcing herself to ignore Alistair and Morrigan bickering behind her. Over and again she heard that the Wardens had caused the death of the king and that any surviving Wardens were traitors to the crown. ‘Who’s crown?’ She turned to Alistair and interrupted his harangue of Morrigan for a minute.

“Alistair? Who is King now that Cailan is dead?” Alistair considered for a moment. His brows pulled together, as if one answer he had come up with was distasteful. “Anora is his queen. I suppose that she would be Cailan’s heir. Why?”

She took a deep breath. “From what I can gather, the Wardens have been named traitors to the crown.”

Isabeaux waited for the inevitable explosion. Morrigan shook her head and walked a bit away. She was obviously uninterested in any difficulty with Alistair that she did not cause herself. Alistair’s face crumpled.

“Do you want to talk about Duncan?” Isabeaux decided to take advantage of a moment when Alistair wouldn’t feel as defensive because Morrigan wasn’t nearby.

“You don’t have to do that, you didn’t know him as long as I did.” The words stung.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t mourn his loss.” Alistair looked into her eyes and saw the truth of her words. She was near tears. They hadn’t spoken much since Reaper had joined the party and she had missed the humor she had seen when they’d met. He let his guard down and let out some of his pain. 

Alistair spoke with a quiet eloquence about the man he admired so. She may have only known Duncan a small fraction of the time Alistair had, but she had admired him all the same. He told her that he wanted a proper funeral when the Blight was over, and spoke of wanting to put a monument up in Highever, something to remind the people of Ferelden that there were true heroes in the world, worthy of honoring. 

“Maybe, when you go to Highever, I will go with you.” Her words were quietly spoken and she thought that perhaps he had not heard. He leaned in close, his forehead touching hers, his face started to turn toward hers, coming closer until they almost shared breath.

“I’d like that. So would he, I think.” His hand came up and caressed her cheek. He kissed her cheek and then stepped back, his hand still touching her face. She heard, rather than saw, Morrigan come up behind her. Alistair dropped his hand and stepped back again, putting distance between them. When Isabeaux looked up at Alistair, his eyes were still on her, not on Morrigan. 

With a small part of her breach with Alistair healed, she walked through the village gates and was stopped by a Templar. They were told that “Lothering was lost” and to keep moving on. They had to get supplies though. They ran by the Chanter’s board and picked up a job to clear out bandits. They hunted them down and then found a place to camp, near a small lake. Isabeaux was happy, she knew that if she waited until nightfall, she could take advantage of the situation and perhaps slip in the water for a much needed bath. Alistair had agreed to return to the Chanter’s board and collect the bounty for removing bandits while Morrigan and she set up camp. When he hadn’t returned right away, Isabeaux explored Lothering a bit more and found a strange looking giant locked in a cage. He was less than forthcoming about the why he had been caged. Isabeaux could sense the strength and honor within the ‘Qunari’ and vowed to find a way to free him before they departed Lothering. She had offered him a way to atone for his crime, though he would not say what that was. Isabeaux went back to the camp and gathered some food and drink to take to the prisoner. She slipped it through his bars and promised a second time to free him before they left. The Qunari thanked her for the food but said little more. Isabeaux went back to camp confused as to how the Chantry could treat any of the Maker’s children thus. She came to the conclusion that the Qunari’s standing and hers were not so different in the Chantry’s eyes. Dinner was ready and she and Morrigan ate companionably, with a tentative friendliness without Alistair’s presence.

Alistair returned just as they finished with another man, red haired, young and dressed like a knight, in tow. Alistair explained that his name was Ser Roland Gilmore, a knight of Highever. He had been traveling to Ostagar but arrived to late. Isabeaux sensed that there was more to the story, but he was not ready for them to pry too much. Ser Gilmore expressed interest in helping them, especially as he had learned that Isabeaux and Alistair were Wardens. Apparently, Roland, as he liked to be called, had been sought out by Duncan but had stayed to defend his castle when it had been attacked by Lord Rendon Howe. Well-spoken and kind, Morrigan attempted to harangue him as she had done Alistair. Gilmore was not impressed by her antics though and asked Alistair and Isabeaux question after question about the Wardens and the battle. Morrigan crossed her arms and pouted for a bit before slipping off into the almost dark. The two men appeared oblivious to Morrigan’s disappearance, but each time Isabeaux tried move into the shadows, both would call her back. 

Tired and frustrated, she decided that she would just tell them what she wanted to do. Alistair blushed and Roland looked at her speculatively. When neither moved, Isabeaux stood up and walked to the edge of the water. She didn’t look back as she peeled off her gauntlets and boots. Before she went to far, she unpacked one of the mage robes, so that she would have something clean to slip into after bathing. Isabeaux set the robes close to the shore, and then resumed preparing for her bath. Once in her small clothes, she slipped into the water. She watched as Reaper lay down next to her mage robes, she used her magic from the water to freshen up her armor and then relaxed as the water soothed her aches and pains. She could see both men by the firelight, talking as if they had known each other for ages. It was something that Alistair had needed, a male companion. She smiled, glad that they hadn’t given her a second thought. Isabeaux listened to the night and set down her burdens for a while. Relaxed, she rubbed vigorously at her arms, trying to scrub the feel of gore from her skin. She ducked under the water and scrubbed at her hair. Feeling clean, she slipped out of the water, using just the lightest touch of magic to dry herself and then Isabeaux donned her mage robes. The men looked up as she re-entered the camp. She looked questioningly at the blush on Alistair’s cheek but decided that it was better if she didn’t know. She sat by the fire and braided her hair, listening to them. Alistair drew the third watch. Roland offered to take second. She bid the two men good night, but neither moved to their bedrolls. Ignoring them both, she moved through the small camp tidying things and setting wards. Hours passed and the men kept talking. Eventually, she said that they could stay up for all she cared, and went to sleep.

Morrigan’s cooking woke her up the next morning. She was twitting Alistair about something. The poor man looked beat. Using her little lean-to tent as cover, she changed into her armor and went to get supplies and news. Morrigan and Roland went with her. Reaper stayed with the sleeping Alistair. The three of them took care of more jobs posted on the Chanter’s board, returning lost items, killing aggressive wolves and bears. Isabeaux gathered herbs and traded potions that she had made for gold. Finally they entered the Tavern. Isabeaux had assumed that the tavern was where Alistair had met Roland but since he hadn’t come back with provisions, she had to go in. She wasn’t ready for the guards that wanted to kill her on sight. A red haired young Sister tried to intervene but the guards were not to be swayed. Isabeaux did her best to keep the fighting from hurting the patrons, something the guards did not care about. She took more hits than necessary because the damn fools weren’t careful. Eventually the guards were defeated. She had kept the captain alive, but with all of her aches and pains, she had lost the desire to keep him that way. The initiate insisted that he be allowed to live and Isabeaux grudgingly agreed on the condition that the coward send a message to Loghain. “The Wardens know what you have done. There will be a reckoning.” The man repeated the message and then fled.

The Sister, Leliana, then decided that she was going to join Isabeaux’s rag tag group of adventurers. Isabeaux didn’t care. The woman seemed pleasant enough, even if she were touched in the head. Morrigan wasn’t thrilled, but Isabeaux decided that her reaction was nothing new. Roland had no opinion, though he seemed pleased that the Chantry was going to be fighting on their side. The woman was neither Sister nor initiate, just a lay person in the Chantry, and was leaving her life of contemplation to join them. The pleasant attitude pleased Isabeaux but she set one condition. Leliana had to aid Isabeaux in freeing the Qunari. The woman was doubtful at first but relented. She went to gather her things, while Isabeaux returned to camp and collected Alistair. The group of them packed up the camp, under the assumption that they would be leaving before nightfall. Alistair, Roland, Isabeaux and Leliana entered the Chantry. Morrigan groused and stayed outside with Reaper. 

Inside was the Revered mother, who, with a little coaxing and thirty silver, parted with the key to the Qunari’s cage. Upon leaving, though, Alistair saw someone that he knew a Ser Donall. He was a knight of Redcliffe and searching for the Sacred Urn of Andraste. Hearing that Eamon was sick, Alistair wanted to go to Redcliffe immediately. Isabeaux calmed him down a little and listened to what the Knight had to say. Eamon was ill, and it seemed to happen around the same time that the battle at Ostagar failed. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Isabeaux considered giving into Alistair, but she worried that if they went to Redcliffe, they might fall prey to the same illness that Eamon contracted. The feeling that she should go to the Circle first intensified. The texts there might help in curing Eamon and she could collect on the treaty at the same time. They thanked Ser Donall for his time and information and fled the Chantry. 

Free of all the other duties, Isabeaux approached the imprisoned Qunari. She presented the key and told him that whether he followed her or not, she would not leave him in that cage. Sten of the Beresaad pledged his service to Isabeaux so that she could defeat the blight. Isabeaux looked over her group. They now numbered seven. She mused that Alistair should be in charge of their little rag-tag band but he refused to take it. Isabeaux shook her head and left town. She’d hoped for a peaceful exit, but Darkspawn, already encroaching on Lothering had other ideas. 

She expected chaos, not a finely honed team of warriors. She and Morrigan stayed to the back, providing support and causing chaos in the ranks of the Spawn. Leliana and Reaper were closest to them, picking of any that got to close to the mages. Sten, standing tall above Alistair and Roland worked alongside both to cleave his way through the creatures’ ranks. In a very short time, all the Spawn lay dead. The man who would have been a victim had Isabeaux not happened along was a dwarven merchant by the name of Bodhan Feddic and his son, Sandal. They thanked Isabeaux for her timely arrival, but could not be convinced to travel with them. ‘It is a pity,’ she thought, ‘we could have used his wagon instead of having to carry everything.’ The Imperial Highway lay before them. She shouldered her pack and started to walk forward but she hesitated. Looking over her shoulder, she caught Alistair’s eye and motioned him to walk alongside her. If she couldn’t make him lead, he would at least be an equal in sharing the burden.


	14. The Maker's Plan

Isabeaux jerked awake. A scream trapped in her chest.

“Bad dream, eh?” Alistair’s voice was full of sympathy. She wouldn’t have been so kind as to call what she’d had a bad dream. Wherever she had visited through her dreams was incredibly hot and filled with Darkspawn. The creatures had roamed around her, speaking in an odd gibberish until the dragon had come. In the roar of the dragon, she’d heard a song. It was calling to her. It was calling for her death. Of those two things she was certain. She still tasted the ashes of death in her mouth as she forced the images from her head. For her, the worst part was she wasn’t sure how much of what she’d experienced was real.

“It, seemed so… real.” She couldn’t stop her mouth from telling him.

“Well, it was real. Sort of. It’s part of the taint that is in you. What you saw; what you dreamed of, that is the archdemon.”

“The dragon is the archdemon?” A part of her was relieved. When she’d first heard about the creature they were to fight, she thought it would be a bigger, more powerful Darkspawn. The dragon was scary, sure, but the Ogre’s she had faced were more terrifying to her.

“I don’t know if it really is a dragon, but it sure looks like one.” They were keeping their voices low, although most of the camp was awake. She and Alistair talked about her dream. It was similar to ones he’d had. Alistair told her they don’t go away, not completely. He’d come to sit by her, near the fire while they talked about the dream. He confided that Duncan had been having them more and more frequently before Ostagar. Alistair also said that some Wardens had claimed to understand the archdemon. Her eyes slid away from him, worried what it would mean if she could understand what the creatures were saying. He seemed to sense her unease but was at a loss as to how to comfort her. 

“Thank you, Alistair.” She smiled slightly at him. He grinned back.

“That’s what I’m here for. To deliver unpleasant news and witty one liners.” He started to get up but paused for a moment longer, studying her face. For a moment, it looked as if her were going to say something, but shook his head and left her side. 

‘I might as well get up then. After that dream, I don’t think I could sleep anymore.’ Her thoughts grumbled in her head and she moved quietly to prepare her things for travel. The creak of a wheel and low call of an ox snapped her head up. There was a strange cart approaching the camp. Both she and Alistair moved toward the wagon, trying to head it off, in case it did not see the encampment. Isabeaux smiled as she recognized Bodhan. He had been mulling over the arrangement she had suggested and come to the conclusion, he’d be safer in her camp than on the road. In payment for safety, not only would he barter with the various towns for the camp’s needs but he would carry their unneeded equipment and camping gear free of charge. Alistair was happy to have that burden taken off of him but Isabeaux had questions. Between the three of them, they hammered out an agreement that would benefit both parties.

“Now that that is settled, we should break camp and head to Redcliffe.” Alistair’s voice was almost jubilant. 

“No.” Her voice was quiet and steady. At first Alistair wasn’t sure that she had spoken. When she turned from him, he grabbed her arm. She considered jerking it out of his grip, but it would have caused a scene.

“What do you mean, No?” His jaw was set, and, as a circle mage, it would have upset her, once. Instead she looked impassively back at him.

“I mean that we are not breaking camp and running to Redcliffe. We have to take care of the treaties. I’m fine with going there, eventually but what can we really do? If he is ill, neither Morrigan nor I are skilled enough healers to aid him. If the Knights are looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, then our best bet would be to look for either texts or other proof of its existence and where. You also haven’t given thought to whether or not going to Redcliffe is just a trap for us. We have already been ambushed once. Loghain knows you and probably knows you are still alive. He also knows that you will want to go to see Arl Eamon. 

“Until we are sure that we can help, or that it isn’t a trap, we should pursue these treaties. Now, I think we should go to the Circle first. First Enchanter Irving will hopefully be able to grant us aid or Knight Commander Greagoir will. They have an extensive library and a multitude of healers. Both would then be available to Eamon and his family. If you would rather see the dwarves or wander in the forest looking for elves, well then, we can do that.” She spoke through clenched teeth. Alistair’s eyes narrowed.

“What is he to you, anyway?” Alistair’s voice was little more than a hissed whisper. She didn’t answer him, immediately. Isabeaux wasn’t sure what she should or could say. She wanted to see Cullen, but part of it was to see if she still had feelings for him, or if she were just transferring her love for Cullen into some sort of weird infatuation with Alistair. There could never be anything between Cullen and herself. The fact that she was a mage and he a Templar had not changed. He would not leave the Chantry for her, and after over hearing Alistair explain how Templars were trained with Lyrium to the point of addiction, she wasn’t sure that he could. 

“He,” she started and then stopped. “He is the first man to make me feel as if I were beautiful. Cherished.” Alistair’s hand had gone slack, releasing her. Isabeaux couldn’t meet his gaze, instead she looked down at her feet. She slipped the amulet out from under her armor and off over her head. She looked at the delicate little ring with a sad smile.

“I loved him, so very much. And I know he loved me.” She coiled the chain in her palm and considered it a minute longer. She reached out with her free hand and took one of his, holding it open. Slowly she dropped it into his hand, reluctant to let it go. When the metal was no longer touching her she could finally finish. “It was over before it began really. Duty can not be denied.” Tears followed the chain, wetting his hand. She sighed and then turned to walk away. “Let me know what you decide then.” 

Alistair just stood there, and watched her go.

She’d emptied a full quiver into the target when Leliana walked up to her. “I think you hurt him, you know.” Isabeaux looked away from the target for a minute and into Leliana’s dark green eyes. 

“Oh? But it’s okay for him to hurt me? He wants to go to Redcliffe? Fine, tell him he can go. I will take Sten, Roland and Reaper with me to the Tower. I would be obliged if you go with him. Talk Morrigan into it too. “

“This is unlike you Isabeaux. When we met in Lothering, I thought you even tempered. I have watched both of you and you are dancing around your interest.”

“He only thinks of me as a Warden. I have seen how he looks at you and Morrigan. The way those two fight, I am surprised that they haven’t been together yet. Besides, I’m a mage. He’s a Templar. It won’t work. I know.” Leliana sat and listened to Isabeaux’s words. 

“He is afraid of something, Isabeaux. Alistair asked me the oddest set of questions today. Would you like to hear them?” Isabeaux turned and looked at Leliana. The woman had shared that she had been a bard previously and entertained many of the companions with stories from her home in Orlais. Leliana patted the grass next to her, inviting Isabeaux to sit. 

“This afternoon, while you chatted with Roland, Alistair asked if I was female.” She imparted the information with the air of someone telling a secret. Isabeaux barely looked up. “I think I sensed the stirrings of him being smitten with you.”

“Well, then. I have probably ended that hope forever.” She sat and quietly related what had happened between Alistair and herself. Leliana listened quietly and without interruption. 

“This Cullen was your first love then? Did you?” Leliana wiggled her eyebrows. Isabeaux blushed and shook her head. Leliana persisted. “Have you ever?”

“Just, um, once. I was curious as to what the big deal was about. But. Never with Cullen.” Isabeaux couldn’t even look up at Leliana. “We should probably get ready to break camp and figure out where we are going.” Before Isabeaux could push herself to her feet, Leliana wrapped her arms around Isabeaux’s shoulders.

“It will work out just as the Maker intended.”

“Do you think, perhaps, that the Maker could let me in on his plan?” Isabeaux tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. Sighing, she pulled her arrows out of her target and then went to pack up her gear.


	15. The First Treaty

“Did you grow up in the Korcari Wilds, Morrigan?” Isabeaux had sidled up to the witch and prepared herself to be lambasted by a wave of sarcasm. Morrigan glared at Isabeaux.

“Why are you bothering me? I don’t pester you with pointless questions, do I?”

“You could if you wanted to, Morrigan. You don’t have to answer. I am simply curious.” Isabeaux fought the urge to hunch her shoulders and walk away. She felt that it was her duty to understand their companions as much as she was able. In Morrigan’s case, Isabeaux had exhausted every other means of friendly overtures and was left with questions.

“Oh, lucky me. What was it you wanted to know?” Morrigan raised a perfect eyebrow and raised her personal shields to keep her ego from being harmed. The witch spoke of the Wilds with fondness for its wild beauty and then related a tale of how she had been caught outside the safety of her mother’s protections by a Chasind. She had used wit and guile to save herself. Isabeaux smiled at the tale, imagining a young girl outwitting her elders. Isabeaux could hardly picture such freedom though. In the Alienage, her father or his family would keep an eye on Isabeaux, afraid of what the humans and slavers would do to such a little girl. Then she had been taken to the Circle. “I suppose you felt like a caged bird then?” Morrigan’s question confused her at first, but on thinking, she answered the only way she could, truthfully.

“Not at first. When I got to the Circle, I had more freedom than I had known. I was free from hunger and cold. I wasn’t afraid all the time. It was a paradise. At first. I didn’t feel confined until much later. I can remember the first time I really noticed the stars. I could only see them from the windows, high in the Tower. I wished that I could walk under them. That is when I felt caged.” Isabeaux drew herself back from the memory. The Circle Tower could be seen in the distance and Isabeaux could feel those stone walls pulling her in, pressing down upon her. Morrigan’s eye followed her.

“Maybe we are not so different, you and I.” Isabeaux didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Morrigan, more than anyone else in the group, understood what it meant to be born with magic. She knew what it was like to be hated. Morrigan’s shell of indifference was her armor, and Isabeaux promised herself not to prick any more at it. “When you go in, I would ask a favor of you.” There was no question that Morrigan would not enter the Tower. Isabeaux had vetoed the idea immediately. 

“What would you ask of me?” 

“My mother’s grimoire was taken by some Templars years ago. I was hoping that you would keep an eye out for it, and bring it back if you find it.” Isabeaux could sense something behind the request. Instead of asking, trusting that Morrigan would not have asked if it were not important to her, Isabeaux nodded. Morrigan’s critical eye bored into Isabeaux once more before nodding and moving away. They would need to set camp soon. Alistair had suggested that they camp outside the village of Lake Calenhad. Isabeaux had nodded that she had heard and agreed. They hadn’t really spoken since that night in camp. He would approach and she would retreat. She’d found a small statue of a warrior in a village store and bought it for him, a peace offering. She couldn’t bring herself to hand it to him, leaving it by his bedroll when he’d gone to check something. Occasionally she would feel his gaze on her, but she ignored the feelings it would cause. She was miserable and seeing the Tower come closer had sparked more hideous nightmares. She dreamed of abominations and demons killing mages and Templars; painting the stone walls of the Tower red with blood. Through it all was a horrendous laughter. 

They’d reached the village of Lake Calenhad shortly before dusk. Bodhan and Sandal helped Sten and Roland to unpack the gear from his wagon. The dwarf and his son entered the village store to trade for good and supplies. Morrigan made herself invisible, for the most part, keeping away from the few Templars that wandered the area. Leliana ensconced herself in the tavern, playing songs and acting the minstrel. Sten, Roland and Alistair made camp and prepared for the night to come. Isabeaux wandered alone. She had last seen this village when she left with Duncan. The ferryman, Kester, was sitting outside the tavern though, looking despondent.

“Kester? Why are you not on your boat?”

“Greagoir took my Lissie away from me. He put Carroll in charge of it. My boat! Named for my grandmum!” Isabeaux was shocked. Greagoir rarely left the Tower. Something had to be wrong, and she feared for her friends.

“Why would he do that?”

“I have no idea. He just came down and took my boat away. He said that no one was allowed to go to the Tower.” Isabeaux cast a glance down toward the dock and saw a Templar standing guard. She tried to remember which one Carroll was, and couldn’t place him. They rarely got new Templars and if Kester knew him, then he’d been around for a while. She decided to put the problem aside for the time being. She would wait at the camp for Leliana or Bodhan to come back with gossip, both were excellent at ferreting out information. Isabeaux didn’t want to go walking into the Tower blind. If there was trouble she wanted to be prepared for it.

The camp was empty, save Alistair, when she returned. She kept her head down and avoided him. He seemed aware of her plan and was tired of being avoided.

“It’s just the two of us. What’s on your mind?” His voice, right behind her, caused Isabeaux to jump and squeak. It took her a minute to realize that he looked sad. He was always so jovial when talking to everyone on the road. She tried to recall what Leliana had said the other day, but drew a blank. 

“Um, you were raised in the Chantry, right? Does that mean that you’ve never…” Her brain caught up to her mouth and she flushed bright red with embarrassment. Alistair just chuckled.

“Never what? Had a new pair of shoes?” His teasing was too much after so much time in silence. 

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do. Have I… never seen a basilisk? Never ate jellied ham? Never licked a lamppost in winter?” One of his hands slid gently up and down her arm.

“Now you are just making fun of me.” She started to move back. His hand flexed slightly, but he did not try to stop her. Instead, he followed, insistent that they continue the ridiculous conversation.

“Make fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought. So, tell me. Have you… ever licked a lamppost in winter?” She saw a wicked twinkle in his eye.

“Yes. I’ve licked a lamppost in winter.” Isabeaux rolled her eyes are the silliness. 

“Only the once? And you didn’t lose half your tongue in the process? I’m impressed. I, myself, have never had the… pleasure. But you know…” He stepped closer and she didn’t move back.

“You’ve never had the opportunity?”

“Well, the Chantry is not exactly a life for rambunctious boys. They taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of a beautiful woman such as yourself. That’s not so bad. Is it?” She listened to the light teasing in his voice and let him enjoy the moment.

“Not really, no.” Her voice had gone soft and he had to lean in to hear it.

“Good.” He leaned in closer, his cheek against hers. She could feel his breath on her neck. His voice had become little more than a whisper and her eyes slid to half-mast with desire. “You would want a gentleman to court you, wouldn’t you? If… if you were to be courted that is.” His arms wrapped around her waist holding her close to him.

“I think I’d like that.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, not sure that she could stand on her own two feet.

“That’s good to know.” His lips were brushing against her ear. “I’ll have to remember that.” The resolve she had made to stay away from Alistair until she had seen Cullen came back in a rush. Isabeaux stepped back and looked up at Alistair. His eyes wandered her face, looking for an answer to something. She looked down at first and then back up to him. “What’s wrong, Isabeaux?” His hand touched her cheek, and it wasn’t until that moment she realized she could feel the backs of his fingers. Two of his fingers caught a lock of hair and slid down, testing the texture. She bit her lip and considered what to tell him. Footsteps in the undergrowth had both of them jerking apart even further and turning toward the sound. Leliana and Roland were walking back into camp, with Sten on their heels. Leliana looked amused, but both Roland’s and Sten’s faces showed disapproval.

Isabeaux was embarrassed that she had been caught unaware. The Circle’s training, the need to be circumspect, was so ingrained, that she expected blows to rain down upon her for loose moral character. She looked at Alistair who looked confused but she couldn’t find the words to explain. The look he gave her, told Isabeaux she didn’t have to explain, he stepped forward and took one of her hands. 

“Did you find anything out?” Alistair’s voice was crisp and clear. All of them had talked about how Lothering had been abuzz with talk about demons in the halls of the Circle. None of them had paid the rumors any mind at first. Leliana had more news, all of it lending credence to Lothering’s rumors. Within a week of the Battle at Ostagar, there had been some sort of occurrence at the Circle. No one was allowed in or out. While Leliana was talking, Alistair watched Isabeaux’s face. He could see the fear on her face.

“I am sure Cullen is okay.” The words were softly spoken. He was trying to reassure her. She looked up into his eyes. She was not worried about Cullen. The Maker would protect him. 

“I am more worried about the children. Cullen is a Templar and can take care of himself. The children have not fully come into their power.” Alistair’s eyes widened in surprise. If he’d known that there were children in the Circle, he’d forgotten. 

“You were right to come here first.” It was a concession she had not expected. “We should leave here immediately and go to the Circle.”

Isabeaux stopped him. “Carroll has the boat. The Knight Commander is not letting any one across. Let’s wait until morning. If the guards change, it might be one I know well. We’d be able to get news and get across with a minimum of fuss. If not, I’d rather not be tired, hungry and out of sorts while dealing with a Templar that is likely to be unhelpful.” The other’s agreed and they settled down to eat and plan. 

There was movement at the edge of the camp, long after Bodhan and Sandal returned. Reaper settled near Isabeaux but the strange sounds in the brush worried her. Reaper caught a scent and turned toward it growling. Isabeaux sat up and counted the party. Everyone, including Morrigan, was accounted for. The bushes rustled again. Plunging to the depths of her power, she covered the camp with a force field. She knew it wouldn’t last long, but she hoped it would deter whatever was stalking her.


	16. A Circle Broken

The ride across the water had been amusing. Carroll had spent the entire ride over flirting with Leliana, irritating both Sten and Roland. Leliana told a tale about a knight who had pined over a woman who thought him beneath her. At the end of the story, the knight died of a broken heart. Isabeaux chuckled behind her hand. Carroll was oblivious to the fact that Leliana was telling him to give up. When Carroll made a disparaging remark about Isabeaux, Alistair started to sputter. Isabeaux looked back at him and shook her head. Carroll’s words meant nothing to her.

The Tower loomed over them, ominous and dark. Isabeaux walked up and pushed the heavy doors open. In her heart, she truly thought she would never have to walk into the Circle Tower again. 

The grand entrance of the Circle hall was silent, except for the pacing of the Knight Commander. A few Templars were standing guard around the hall, but Isabeaux saw no sign of any mages. Her heart thundered in her chest. It couldn’t be true that all of the mages were dead. Knight Commander Greagoir looked at Isabeaux, his eyebrows climbing to his hairline. 

“I’m impressed. You are a proper Grey Warden now. Although, I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see you again.” Isabeaux tried to figure out if he was angry or relieved to see her. With Greagoir it was often hard to tell.

“Pleasure to see you too, Knight Commander. I have come with the treaties that oblige the Circle to aid in the coming Blight.” The man grumbled at her matter of fact tone before relaying the difficulty that the Circle and his Templars were having. It came out that Uldred and a few of the other mages returned after the rout at Ostagar with news for the First Enchanter. It was, however, a few days after their return that they received an audience with Irving. It was during that time that the difficulties began. Suddenly, the Tower was filled with Abominations and Demons, stalking Templar and mage alike. Even in his terse tones, Isabeaux could imagine the horrors that had occurred. Greagoir had grabbed who he could and sealed off the rest of the tower. Now, the Knight Commander was just awaiting the Rite of Annulment to come from Denerim. The thought horrified Isabeaux. She couldn’t believe that there were no mages alive behind the doors the Templars kept closed. 

“The mages are probably already dead.” Alistair said it as kindly as he could. Isabeaux knew that he might be right, but it wasn’t a chance she was going to take.

“The mages are not without the ability to defend themselves. Some must still live. Greagoir, open the doors, I have to go and do what I can.” She was already walking to the doors leading to the inner workings of the Tower. She didn’t look back, uncaring whether or not the others were following. 

“Abominations are not to be trifled with, they are a great danger and you will face more than one.” The Knight Commander’s hand on her shoulder held her still, forcing her to listen. “Once you go past those doors, you will not be let back out. I will wait until the Rite of Annulment arrives. If you have not returned WITH the First Enchanter, I will use it, understood? I will only believe the threat is over if I hear it from Irving.” Isabeaux looked back into his eyes and saw the pain he’d endured. Isabeaux nodded at his warning. In an uncharacteristic gesture, Greagoir leaned in and kissed her cheek. “May the Maker watch over you, child.” 

Isabeaux turned around and saw that her four companions had followed her. “You don’t have to come with me. This isn’t your fight. There are no Darkspawn here. However, I have to do this. I have to try.” They just nodded and waited for her to open the doors. She tried one last time to plead with Alistair. “The Blight is what is important. This is only a piece of it. You should leave and head to the next destination.” She didn’t want him to leave. He was an excellent warrior and a good friend. Her heart was already bruised knowing that many of her friends would not be waiting beyond the doors.

Alistair grinned at her. “As long as I don’t fall to an abomination or demon, I’m fine. The Rite of Annulment won’t hurt me.” He said it in such a snarky tone, she had to laugh. 

She turned toward the door and motioned for a Templar to unbar the door. The entire group walked into the darkness beyond.

Isabeaux was grateful for the partial light that was part of the Circle’s magic. The chandeliers high above her cast a dancing light on the floor below. On both sides were doors leading to the various dormitories that housed the apprentice mages. She walked over to the door of her old room and opened it up. The smell wasn’t too bad. There were no bodies here, but quite a few outside. She looked around, surprised at the viciousness of the attack. Beds had been pushed every which way, bedding shredded. There was filth and refuse scattered everywhere. It was obvious that this was one of the last rooms of the desperate. She walked over to what had been her bed. It was still made, pristine and intact. She staggered and sat numbly, her hands were shaking. Alistair mumbled to the others and they moved off before he came to sit by her. He said nothing, just put his arm companionably around her shoulders and let her draw on his strength. Isabeaux eyes burned from unshed tears, but she couldn’t seem to let them go. Slowly she could feel their hot trails streaking down her cheeks.

“I am so sorry, Isabeaux.” The words were soft and well meant. 

“This was my room once. My bed. My whole world. Who could shatter a world like this, Alistair?” He didn’t have an answer, but she wasn’t really looking for one. He just held her until she was strong enough to go on. Isabeaux realized that she liked Alistair’s quiet support, but she had to move on. They’d wasted enough time on her grief.

She wiped at her cheeks and stood up. He continued to sit and watch as she looked around the room for clues or items of import. The room cleared, she left, with Alistair in tow. The others had been looking in the other dorms. Some had fared better than others. Slowly they walked down the halls. Echoing in her ears was an unearthly laughter.

At the end of the hall was a closed door. Beyond that, the scene of her disgrace; where Jowan had shown himself a blood mage and she’d been exiled. She steeled herself for what was beyond and slowly opened the door. 

The room was filled with people, mostly children. ‘Thank the Maker, the children are alright.’ Hope flared in her chest as she took in the scene. There were a few adult mages, standing near a glowing portal. Older apprentices and the children were huddled near the basement doors and tucked into some of the alcoves. There was little conversation. 

As the party entered the room, a rage demon burst through the portal and made ready to attack. Isabeaux had her staff in hand and was headed to help out. A senior enchanter had it well in hand though, as she destroyed the creature with one spell. Isabeaux slowed her steps and stopped right in front of Wynne, one of the many mages who fought at Ostagar. Isabeaux had thought her dead in the battle, and it appeared that Wynne thought the same of her. The two embraced briefly, not as friends but as survivors and individuals with a common cause. The appearance of Leliana, Sten, Roland and Alistair behind her made Wynne wary though. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to seek the help of the Mages. Greagoir told me a little of what happened and I knew that I had to do something. We have little time; he is waiting for the Rite of Annulment. If we don’t have Irving in front of him by the time it arrives…” Isabeaux didn’t have to finish. Every mage knew what the Rite of Annulment meant. She looked at Isabeuax’s group and then at the mages she’d helped to protect since it began.

“I have a barrier over the door. If you will allow me to come along, then I will release the barrier and we can clear out the Tower.” Isabeaux worried about the children. Wynne had done so much to help them; Isabeaux didn’t want to leave them defenseless. “If we kill everything in our path, then they should be fine.” Wynne sounded fierce, but Isabeaux knew that it only took one misstep and the children would be defenseless. She turned to Alistair, her eyes pleading with him.

“Alistair. Would you please stay and protect the people here. You… and Sten? I need to know the children are secure.” He looked hurt for a minute and then realized that she was entrusting him with so much more than just the children. He nodded but added his own request.

“If you can, send word that you are alright. Let us know of your progress. Call for us if you need it.” She nodded at him the whole time. Suddenly she felt a tug on her arm and looked down. Faedric, a small elven apprentice was standing by her. The boy had arrived about a month before she left, and she had spent a lot of time with him, helping him settle and getting used to the world of mages. He’d come from Denerim and reminded her of cousins she’d left behind. He hadn’t seemed to have grown much in her absence and she worried for him. 

“I knew you would come back to help. Andraste must have heard my prayers.” His small voice was filled with awe as he looked on Alistair and Sten. She introduced the men to Faedric by their titles, impressing the boy. She then told the child what she expected of him. He nodded earnestly and then went to complete the tasks she’d set him. Her work done, and much more ahead of her she started to move toward Wynne and the door. Alistair caught her arm and stopped her.

“Do me a favor. Come back, alright? I don’t think I can do all of this… without you.”

Impulsively, she leaned up and in to kiss his cheek. He’d turned his head slightly, so she caught the corner of his mouth instead. Both of them blushed hotly.

“I’ll be back as soon as I’m able. I’ll send word before that.” He had to be satisfied with that good bye as she rushed to Wynne’s side. The senior mage lowered the barrier and Wynne, Isabeaux, Roland and Leliana walked through. Sten took up sentry duty at the door, ignoring the questioning looks of the mages. Alistair did his best to organize the mages, preparing the way for either the First Enchanter or the Rite. He’d kept busy for about an hour and a half before looking worriedly at the door.


	17. The Tower Beckons

The stench beyond the holding room was immense. Reluctantly following their noses, they entered the ruined library. Books and bodies were scattered everywhere. Leliana checked for survivors while the others kept lookout for abominations and demons. There were plenty of the latter, attacking indiscriminately as their feast upon the dead was interrupted. Isabeaux allowed her anger and frustration to come out as she fought. The scent of an angered mage seemed to draw even more demons toward her, and she was happy to oblige them with a trip back to the void. After clearing the first level, Isabeaux, Roland and Leliana worked to move the dead away from the walls of books and toward a central location; Wynne and Isabeaux doing their best to identify the deceased. Wynne’s quill worked tirelessly as they documented the evil that had been wrought within the stone walls. Isabeaux’s hands started to shake, a deep chill settling in her bones. The tang of copper mixed with the odors of decay that was particular to dead bodies. ‘I should be here, among them,’ she thought. 

Once their task was complete, Leliana said a simple prayer for the dead. Wynne and Isabeaux took a little more time to grieve before preparing to move on. Isabeaux needed to know how anyone could have done this, allowed it to happen. She held her tongue. It wasn’t yet time for that explanation. She looked at the line of bodies, tears slipping through the gore of battle. She raised her hands, calling upon the chill that was threatening her control and cast the bodies into a deep freeze, stopping the decay, the smell… time. Wynne looked at her sharply.

“That was a waste of energy, and you will need every bit for the coming trials.”

Isabeaux sighed. “They were our friends once, Wynne. They were family. They deserve better than rotting away on the floor of the library, and while they may be beyond caring in this world, I am not. I have to give them any courtesy I can.” She didn’t want to be angry at the other mage, but part of her blamed Wynne for what they had found. Wynne was strong; she should have been able to stop it. Isabeaux grimaced at her angry thoughts. Deep within her mind, she could hear demons singing to her, begging her to lose control. Their song was as sweet as morning, and promised retribution. Isabeaux shook herself, forcing her mind from a most dangerous path. Choosing to act and not think for a while, she unstrapped her staff and headed to the next floor.

Each floor was the same, or so it seemed. As they opened each door, the hope for survivors grew weaker. They had found Owain, the tranquil of the stockroom, unharmed. He gave a fairly accurate account of what he had witnessed. Apparently a mage named Niall had taken the Litany of Andralla from the stockroom in the hopes of ending the siege of demons. Isabeaux tried to remember Niall, but came up blank. It saddened her to know that she had forgotten so many. 

Owain had helped to hide a few mages that had not turned to demons. There were a number of tranquil in hiding as well. Gathering the survivors all together, Wynne sent them down to Alistair and the others. Isabeaux wrote a quick note as an update to their progress. Then, she and the others secured the stockroom and adjoining foyer before taking turns resting. The rooms were a bone chilling cold, and the stones echoed with fury. None of them wanted to spend any more time in the infected tower than necessary, but they could not run themselves past exhaustion. Isabeaux walked the perimeter of the room, touching the walls and listening to the screams of fear and frustration that had been trapped inside. Visions of death assailed her as the Tower tried to purge some of the evil it had witnessed. Tears slid down her face as she saw friends fighting and killing each other; abominations being ‘born’ from the bodies of the ambitious; the utter destruction of a way of life. Soon the cold of the stone became unbearable, and Isabeaux pulled her hand away. The burn that Duncan had healed so long ago marred the skin of her palm, and it itched. Idly scratching it she turned toward the makeshift beds. Soon it would be her turn to sleep.

For Isabeaux, the nightmares she’d experienced were the worst yet. The voices of the demons had become stronger with promises to fix everything. One of those voices sounded so much like Cullen, drawing her in. In her dreams, she lay in Cullen’s arms. His touch feather light yet each one stoked a desire that burned hotly. Around them, demons and Darkspawn clashed, devouring everything that stood in their way. Cullen’s hands, his mouth, all arousing her painfully. With each soft moan of desire, another companion fell to the Darkspawn, ripped apart in torrents of blood, but she could do nothing, for her desire kept her locked in a fateful embrace. She could feel the rhythmic pounding as Cullen made her his wife, even as the world burned. Heat and want obscured her vision until it was only Isabeaux and Cullen. As she emerged from the lust and desire, she saw only ash. Even her beloved Cullen was little more than a burned husk, but it was one that still moved, still talked. Terror gripped her as she saw that she was covered in gore and around her lay her friends. Their deaths were on her hands. She had killed them all. Breaking through all of this,she heard a voice, small and far away. ‘Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.’

She stood on the top of the Tower, high above the Harrowing chamber, facing the largest dragon she had ever seen. Behind her were the men she trusted most, her swords, her shields. This was to be her duty, not love. This is what she had been born to do. Isabeaux ran forward and plunged a stolen sword deep into the dragon’s maw, shoving the blade into its brain. The death throws threatened to knock her off her precarious position. Light, hot and blinding burned her worse than any flame; then nothing, only darkness.

She awoke with a gasp. Roland was sitting next to her, a worried expression painted on his face. Sure that Wynne was on the other side of the room, he spoke of his fears to Isabeaux.

“I can now understand why so many mages turn to blood magic and turn into abominations. They cannot hope to aspire to anything beyond these walls.” Isabeaux pushed the sleep out of her eyes and tried not get angry at her friend for this assumption.

“We can and do aspire to many things, Roland. We have our own culture and hierarchy within these walls. What we want most is denied us, freedom. The freedom to love and marry; to have children; grow old. We aspire to what all people aspire to. Power, the need and desire for it, is the same whether you are a mage or a warrior. Some want it, others do not. It is the fear of men that keeps us locked in these walls. Few of us would ever turn to blood magic, but when we do, the results are terrifying. It’s a little like backing a dog into a corner and then wondering why it has bitten us.” Roland listened, but wasn’t convinced. She knew one conversation wouldn’t change his mind about mages. To him, she was the exception. She jogged Leliana awake and the four prepared to continue the onslaught against the Tower.

Few true survivors of the massacre greeted them as they moved through the rest of the Tower. Most of the mages that had survived had turned to blood magic before the attack. Time and again, Isabeaux was forced to kill men and women that she had considered friends. Every one of their deaths a stain on her soul, and she could feel it burning away, consumed by anger. People that had been kind, caring, talented mages fell before her, screaming of injustice and spewing hate. Her blood ran cold at the idea that any man or demon could have been so persuasive. After clearing another floor, Isabeaux got Wynne to talk. Her list of the dead complete for the floor, she reluctantly relayed the tale of what had happed after Ostagar.

“Uldred did not stay with the rest of us as we recuperated after the battle. There had been so many killed or wounded in the battle, that it took days to get everything sorted out. By that time, Uldred had reached the Circle Tower. He convinced Irving that Loghain had done his best in battle and was asking for aid against the Darkspawn. Supposedly, Irving had chosen to give the matter some thought. He wanted to wait until the rest of us had returned. Uldred was livid. He’d begun petitioning the other senior mages that had been left behind. It was during this time that I, and some of the others, returned. Uldred was closeted with a number of mages when we approached Irving. Then the most terrifying noise ripped through the tower. A hundred voices screaming in pain, the room in which Uldred had been burst open and abominations flooded out. They ripped through mages and Templars alike. Irving told me to get the children to safety. I haven’t heard from him since.” 

Isabeaux listened to the tale in silence. Loghain and Uldred. Loghain’s name kept coming up in connection with the worst of crimes and Isabeaux wondered if he had planned all of this. She shook her head at the thought, ‘No one could have planned this. No one sane would have.’

Hours bled into each other as they systematically cleaned floor after floor. Isabeaux had Roland and Leliana scan the shelves of books on each, looking for anything that might reference the Urn of Andraste. When her duties as recorder would end, she too would search the stacks of texts left lying around. She was fairly certain that she’d found Flemeth’s book for Morrigan. She’d also picked up a small white rune stone that tingled when she touched it. ‘It’s something Alistair would like,’ she mused. 

When they got to the higher floors, the number of abominations shrank but demons increased, and, at their command, the Templars. Men Isabeaux had trusted, and some she had not, attacked the group, wave upon wave. What made it even worse for Isabeaux was that some of the men were aware that they were being controlled but could not stop their actions. She prayed for their forgiveness as she cut them down with magic. Sometimes the little group got lucky and killed the demon first, releasing its hold on the knights. If they could be freed, they were checked by Wynne and Isabeaux for lingering magical effects, and by Leliana for wounds that could be healed. All in all they managed to free about eight Templars. They had cleared about three-fourths of the Tower, and Isabeaux still had not found Cullen or Irving, alive or dead.

In front of them lay the final large vault before the Harrowing chamber. It would be a good place to secure and rest before completing the Tower search. They would need all their strength to defeat Uldred. Wynne opened the door and standing in the center, hovering over the body of a prone mage, was a demon, the likes of which none of them had ever seen. It called to all four of them, pulling them in and down. Losing control, they submitted to the demon’s call and the world slipped away.


	18. Into the Fade

Duncan was waiting for her. He looked so proud, like a poppa whose child pleased him so. Isabeaux looked around the fortress looking for Alistair, but he wasn’t there. Something was wrong. Duncan was talking but he never referenced Alistair, his prized protege. She looked around again, worry starting to eat at her nerves.

“Don’t you like it here in Weishaupt Fortress?” He sounded far to calm.

“It is fine, but…”

“You should be very happy. The archdemon has been defeated and the Darkspawn threat was eliminated.” The pronouncement worried her. If there were truly no Darkspawn, what would the Wardens do? What was her role in the world? The longer Duncan talked the more wrong the world felt. Then it occurred to her, Duncan was dead. She started to panic. Reality blurred and the sudden realization that she was in the Fade hit her. Everything seemed so real, but the absence of Alistair here, that was wrong. So much was simply wrong. As she started to fight the vision, Duncan attacked her. The pain was sudden, sharp and very, very real. She cried out, but it wasn’t Cullen’s name she called.

“Alistair!” Again and again the vision of Duncan attacked her, beating her down with frenzied attacks. ‘Join us brothers and sisters…’ Alistair’s voice sang through the dreamscape, giving her strength to stand and fight back. She recited the words they had spoken, growing in power and confidence. Soon, Duncan was falling back under her blows. Then she remembered the last words about the Wardens that Alistair had shared. ‘In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death…’

“Sacrifice.” She spoke the words with a fierce joy. Duncan had sacrificed for her and Alistair, he had kept her safe. The demon that sought to keep her here in the Fade did not know Duncan, or what a great man he had been. This puppet that she was fighting was a perversion, trying to tarnish the man’s good name as well as that of the Wardens. She would survive and thrive because that is what Duncan would have wanted. As the creature fell, she began to cry. Would the pain, the tests, the sacrifices never end? Isabeaux took comfort in the knowledge that when she had called out, Alistair had answered. Alistair, not Cullen. Oh, dear Maker, what had become of Cullen?

The landscape faded only to be replaced by another. Isabeaux was shocked that the world was so complete. She thought that she would have been taken back to the Tower, but obviously the demon had other plans for her. Standing in front of her was a man who looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place his face. Unlike the Harrowing, this man had a place in her world. Niall, the mage who had taken the Litany, stood in front of her with only small clues as to the puzzle. There would be a path, tests. Isabeaux knew that even the Fade had rules. She had to pass this test, she had to return to Alistair. Together they were meant to stop the Blight. Teasing at the edges of her mind were thoughts of Cullen. 

Isabeaux followed Niall’s instructions, touching the small pedestal and searching through the maze that the demon had constructed to keep her. She mastered the forms of mouse and golem, of shade and fire. Isabeaux allowed her emotions to guide her, knowing that demons didn’t like to share territory. When she was truly stuck, she would focus on Cullen or Alistair, hoping that desire would flash and open the way. Often she would hear Alistair’s voice guiding her but Cullen’s voice was silent. 

When she touched another pedestal, sure that she had completed the maze, she was content in the belief that this time, she would be going home. 

The landscape was bleak and empty. Grey light hung on the horizon and misery seemed to fill the air. Outlined in the distance Isabeaux could almost make out the silhouette of a castle. Standing in the middle of the clearing was Roland, head in his hands, terror and sorrow etched onto his face. Over and over he mumbled that he was alone, among other things. She called out to him, and at first he didn’t notice. It took her a bit, shaking him, yelling; he was unresponsive until she kissed him full on the lips. She surprised both herself and Roland with her actions. His eyes snapped up at her and she smiled as he made eye contact. 

“Roland this is a dream!” As he came to grips with what she was saying, he faded from view. Isabeaux looked around and saw another pedestal. Sighing, she touched it and disappeared.

Wynne was lamenting the loss of so many mages. Bodies lay strewn across the field where she stood. Isabeaux was surprised, as she was beginning to think that Wynne had a heart of stone. Still, Wynne should have been able to tell that they were in the Fade. As a senior enchanter, she should have gone into the Fade more than just during her Harrowing. Isabeaux tried to reason with her, but Wynne immediately turned on her and blamed her for the deaths. It was no more than she deserved, Isabeaux reasoned. If she had been in the Tower, she might have been able to avert the worst of the damage. Their reverie was shattered when the dead rose up to enact revenge. At least she had someone to fight alongside when the demons attacked. Isabeaux felt strangely detached as she fought the shades of mages, unlike the immediacy of fighting the Wardens. Before Isabeaux could decide what that meant, the pedestal appeared and she was whisked away. 

Leliana was kneeling in front of the Revered Mother of Lothering. Another round of insecurities, another fight with demons. Leliana seemed a bit quicker to respond though. There was some part of her history that she was choosing to hide from Isabeaux and the mage was okay with that. Eventually, all secrets would come out. Before disappearing as the others had, Leliana looked at Isabeaux as if truly seeing her for the first time. Isabeaux wondered what it was she saw, and if the woman would ever tell her. When all traces of Leliana and her personal demons had disappeared, Isabeaux touched the pedestal.

She was in a large room, at the center of which was a very large bed, dressed for royalty. There was something about the bower that made her nervous. She could smell blood in the air, and a sharp pain shot across her abdomen. The room was empty but there was someone coming. From a distance, she could hear footsteps coming closer. Her body started to shake as fear sank into her bones. Large, warm hands slid from her wrists up to her shoulders. Hot breath brushed across her neck and against her ear. Isabeaux could not control her breathing, or slow the beat of her heart. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. 

“This is what you want, isn’t it. To be a wife? To stay in my arms forever?” The hands at her shoulders slid around her neck, flexing slightly. “You are mine. You know that, don’t you? No one can love you like I do. You need to stay here with me, where I can keep you safe, forever.” Terror settled against her chest, squeezing out her breath. Suddenly she was on her back on the bed, pain wracked her body. Blood seemed to flow from everywhere, black and burning. She cried and begged, but the pain continued. She struggled to breathe deeply, to call on that center of calm that had sustained her throughout the trials. 

“No.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “No, this isn’t you. You wouldn’t do this. It is not who you are. Stop it.” She groped at her leg, and found the dagger that Duncan had given to her on the trip to Ostagar. Unsheathing it, she raised her arm and plunged the knife into Alistair’s back. The creature screamed and writhed under the blade. The world went dark and she woke to find herself in a bright field. At the far end was the demon who was keeping her in the Fade. 

Isabeaux was tired of its games. It had tried to shake her faith in the Wardens, in Duncan and in Alistair. It had tried to keep them separate. It tried to destroy her. This creature would find out what it meant to go against a Warden and a mage. Isabeaux stopped short, when had she stopped thinking of herself as a mage and started to think of herself as a Warden first? She shook her head to clear it. Now was not the time to decide semantics. She moved forward, toward the demon, clearing her mind of everything but defeating the creature. Upon reaching it, Roland, Wynne and Leliana were there. Isabeaux breathed a sigh of relief. She would no longer have to feel alone, her friends and companions would always support her as she did them. The demon stood no chance against the united group. When the demon lay decimated, the group fell away one by one, into the mists that separated worlds. Isabeaux was the last one left. Standing there, begging her to take the Litany was Niall. She nodded and promised that the work he had started would not go unfinished. She had given up hope of finding Cullen alive. Her nightmares and the Fade had told her that he was dead. Tears slipped from closed eyes as she made her goodbyes to her first love. With her eyes closed, she couldn’t see the Fade slip away. She wanted to keep that small memory of her time with Cullen closed in her heart. For once, she didn’t want to return to the real world.


	19. Consequences of Our Actions

The stone floor of the Tower room seemed cold and foreign under Isabeaux’s cheek. Her head throbbed, and she thought that she might have cracked a rib when they had been taken to the Fade. Her mouth was dry and tasted faintly of copper. She wished for wine, so at least she would have a reason to hurt this badly. She looked at her companions and found them just as strongly affected. Shadows lined Wynne’s eyes and the corners of Roland’s mouth were tense giving away his terrified state of mind. Leliana’s entire body was hunched as if she were trying to hide from some unknown hunter. Isabeaux took a deep breath, and regretted it instantly. The pain in her chest had eased but the smell of rot was cloying and overpowering after the relatively clean seeming air of the Fade.

At her feet lay the unmoving form of Niall. She couldn’t spare any tears for him, she had wasted them in the Fade. She did say a small prayer of thanks though, hoping the Maker would take pity on him and see him home. She tucked the Litany of Andralla into her breastplate. She looked around the room and only the body of the demon and Niall lay on the floor.

“Should we clean this room and take turns sleeping, or would you rather press on?” Isabeaux had come to a turning point in the Fade. She had gone in to the Fade believing that she could only rely on her own skill, but learned that she had to trust the people that she traveled with. She had seen the worst of her companions’ nightmares and worried that her own weaknesses had been displayed for them as well. A sharp pain lanced across her stomach at the memory of the demon’s attack. She didn’t care what face the creature wore, she knew, from the start what it was. She even tried to justify it for herself, but there was something in the touch that had been so wrong. Ashamed at her own fears, she focused on her companions. Wynne wanted to move on, afraid they had wasted too much time under the demon’s influence. Roland and Leliana thought it would be best to gather their strength first, resting and setting their minds at ease. Carefully neutral, Isabeaux suggested that none of them were ready to face Uldred and that rest for all of them would be best. She took out what provisions she had left, shocked at how little she had. Everyone pooled resources and were able to ease their hunger. Basic needs were taken care of and Leliana and Wynne lay down for a few hours sleep. 

Isabeaux had expected Roland to want second watch, but he seemed intent on talking with her. When the women’s breathing had evened out and Roland could be fairly sure that neither was aware of conversations, he looked at Isabeaux.

“Did you kiss me?”

“In the Fade? You weren’t responding to anything else I was doing in the attempt to snap you out of it, so… yes.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. Her cheeks were stained red. Technically, Roland was only the second man she had kissed on the lips and she had initiated it without the excuse of alcohol.

“You… you know I only think of you as a friend. As a sister.” He looked pleadingly at her.

“Is it because I am a mage? Or an elf?” She asked the question wryly. She didn’t want Roland interested in her, but she was curious as to what made a person attracted to another. She was too afraid of her own feelings to really look inward.

“Neither. You have been so kind, but there just isn’t…” His voice trailed off as he tried to find the words.

“Don’t worry about it. Really. I’d much rather you and I stay friends; if that is alright with you.” She smiled, but still couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Thank the Maker!” He leaned in and hugged her, surprised that she stiffened in his arms.

She smiled shyly at him and wished that all of her relationships could be that easy.

**

She was heartily tired of abominations and demons. Isabeaux wanted Uldred to come out from hiding and face them already. With all the power Uldred had been expending, keeping them from their goal, he had to know that they were getting close, she hoped. Roland had taken the last note down to Alistair while Wynne and Leliana were sleeping. Isabeaux had been afraid of facing Alistair, afraid that the betrayal of her mind and his death at her hand in the Fade would be clear on her face. Somewhere she had changed from the frightened little mage who looked to Templars to keep her safe from harm to a Warden who could kill her companions. She no longer trusted herself. Alistair had sent a short note back with Roland.

“The Templars are getting ready. You have very little time left. Let me know if you need our help.”

She smiled again at the offer. The last thing Alistair had wanted to do was come to the Tower, but he’d let her lead. He’d let her leave him behind as she chose to clear the Tower of abominations. He hadn’t even come storming up to ‘rescue’ her, although it was apparent he would rather be in the thick of things. It meant so much that she was able to do this. She turned her thoughts from Alistair and contemplated the door that faced her. Lying dead in the corner of the room were two mages, a few abominations and the ashy remains of a very pushy demon. The voided thing had spoken to her in her mind, promised her anything for a foothold. She shuffled her feet, imagining kicking through the ashes and dispersing those thoughts as easily as dust. The door still loomed ahead of her, mocking her. According to Wynne, just beyond the next room was the Harrowing chamber. Isabeaux had joked that she didn’t remember it being so difficult to get to the Harrowing chamber the last time she went. The older mage just looked at her. Shrugging, she pushed the door open and felt a frisson of awareness slide across her skin.

To one side of the room was a glowing cylinder of power and caught within was Cullen. Isabeaux gasped in shock and ran toward him. He stood up as they entered the room and narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. She collided with the ring of light and was repelled, her body burning and tingling wherever it had connected with the cage. She looked around the odd cage, grateful that whoever was keeping him had left him water. The monster who had caged him wanted him to live, albeit in terror and pain. Isabeaux was shocked at how thin he looked, how old. She ran her hands along the energy, looking for a way in, a way to free Cullen, but he had dismissed her as a figment of his imagination. She pounded against it, venting her frustration. He barely noticed.

“This trick again? I know what you are. I will… stay strong…” Cullen’s voice was weak. Isabeaux ignored his words, trying to get into the cage to get him out. Cullen had continued his rant, his words barely registering. He talked about how ‘they’ were using his ill-advised infatuation with ‘her’ against him. She knelt and moved as close to him as the cage would allow. Quietly, she murmured words of comfort, promising him release.

“SILENCE and begone. Wait, that always worked before. I closed my eyes and you would be gone, but you are still here.” His panic was rising. She allowed herself to open to more power, seeking it in an attempt to cancel out the cage and free him. Her need becoming more frantic as he became more unstable.

“It is me Cullen. We’re trying to get you out of here.” The Templar’s eyes followed her. She was not acting like her ‘old self’, she’d been broken on nightmares and reforged into something stronger, new, different.

“You cannot blame be for being cautious. They told me you were dead. Why are you here?” 

“Is it really so strange? This was my home, Cullen.”

“As it was mine, but they ruined it, with their cursed magic.” He had never before said that magic was a curse. He’d always seemed to look beyond it, as if it weren’t even a factor in her humanity. The look on his face scared her for she saw hatred etched deep. He was brief in relaying his tale, watching as she tried over and over to release him from his prison. “It is no use Isabeaux. This is Uldred’s doing. You have to kill him. You have to kill all of them.” The vehemence in his voice knocked her back. Leliana tried to offer food or drinks, untainted by the blood mages. He spurned her and verbally berated Wynne. Only Roland stood silent, watching the man in the cage as one would a wolf at the door. They learned that Irving had been taken to the Harrowing chamber, but Cullen didn’t think he still lived, or if he did, the First Enchanter had surely become a blood mage. Wynne scoffed at the idea, but Isabeaux held her tongue. She would not know unless she saw Irving. She had to see for herself what was going on behind the door at the top of the stairs. 

When she didn’t agree with him, Cullen became adamant. She could understand his fear and anger. She had felt the same as she worked through the tower. He had watched his friends die, even killed a few when they attacked him. Her path had not been much different, but she had to continue to try to see the good in people. She mounted the first of the steps, her eyes on the steps ahead. Her test wasn’t over, even out of the Fade, the Maker tested her. 

“Maker turn his gaze on you. I can only hope you haven’t doomed us all.” She turned back and looked at him. His once merry green eyes were hard as stone as he watched her walk toward her greatest battle. Fighting against Uldred would be fighting against the worst of herself. Isabeaux took a deep breath and continued up the stairs. Her fingers trailed over the delicately carved banisters once more, her mind drifting back to her Harrowing. Flecks of blood marred the rich golden color of the wood, the last people up these stairs fought, she could do no less. Stopping once more at the door, she turned and looked back. Cullen had knelt in prayer, his pleas to the Maker a mere whisper in the half-light of the room. Wynne spoke at her elbow.

“Don’t forget the Litany. It’s our only protection.”

Isabeaux opened the door silently, almost reverently. The sacred chamber may have been profaned by Uldred, but she would not lower herself to do so. The mage in question was trying to coerce another into becoming an abomination. The pain and power being used could be felt by everyone in the room. Magic skimmed over Isabeaux’s skin and made it crawl. She narrowed her eyes against the flashes of light and could barely make out ten figures at the far end of the room. She hoped that Irving was among them, but couldn’t be sure. When the magic faded, another abomination stood on the floor and Uldred had turned to pick another captive.

“Perhaps, you would like to play with someone with a little more… spirit?” She chose her words carefully, pricking at his ego and pushing Uldred into rushing her. Roland, Leliana and Wynne formed a semi-circle behind Isabeaux, granting her protection but space to move. ‘Now comes the time for witty banter,’ she thought. Isabeaux listened to the posturing and preening of Uldred and was not impressed. He was the same self-important little man that he had been at Ostagar, grasping at power. A flash warned her to stay on guard though. A whisper in the darkness told her to look closer. Uldred was no longer a man, but an abomination himself. Gritting her teeth, she gathered her power. Her hand slid to her breastplate and slipped the Litany into her hands. She wanted it ready if she needed it. Before Uldred could continue on with his little tirade, Isabeaux cut him short. She was no longer interested in letting him try and convince her of his grand plan. She goaded him into action and was not shocked as his form rippled and he became a pride demon. “Didn’t anyone tell you what happens to abominations?” Her voice was filled with a fierce glee. All the anger, frustration, shame and sorrow she had been forced to endure for the past few days honed her power. She would defeat Uldred. She would do it for Cullen and Faedric, for Irving and Greagoir, for all of the mages for whom pyres would have to be lit. Isabeaux even acknowledged that she would kill him for herself. He was the last vestige of her previous life. His was the curse of magic, while hers was a gift, granted by the Maker.

The battle was even harder than Ostagar, but in the end, the creature that had been Uldred lay dead. Irving still lived, as did a few of the other mages in the chamber. Roland, Leliana and Isabeaux were bloodied and disoriented. Only Wynne had come through unscathed. The older mage spent some time healing Isabeaux and the others. When they could stand and walk on their own, they approached Irving. Like Cullen, her mentor and teacher looked decades older. Tired and disoriented, he requested assistance to leave the chamber and go see Greagoir. Isabeaux asked that Roland and Wynne help the First Enchanter. She ran out of the room to find that the glowing cage gone, and so was Cullen. He had been freed, but had not stayed to see if she still lived. Her heart pinched and she tried to understand. She walked slowly back up the stairs and took Roland’s place at Irving’s side. Isabeaux had chosen her side and tried to save as many as she could. She’d chosen and lost. 

Isabeaux was silent as they made their way down the many flights. She said nothing when the group had finally exited to the main entrance chamber with the survivors at their back. She saw Cullen take his place at Greagoir’s side as the First Enchanter and Knight Commander exchanged exultations of joy as seeing one another whole. Irving’s appearance halted the Rite of Annulment and proved to Greagoir that the Circle was back in their control. Upset and angered by this proclamation, Cullen asserted that the whole of them had been corrupted by blood mages. While the idea was dismissed by Greagoir and Irving, Isabeaux knew it was time to talk with Cullen. His face had been filled with disgust and hate when he glanced her way. It pained to think that either of them could have changed so much. Her heart longed for the sweet understanding man she had first fallen in love with, whose gentle hands had soothed her fears. If he could be made to see the reasoning behind her actions, perhaps he could begin to forgive her; forgive mages in general. 

Alistair had been waiting by the door when they walked through it with Irving. He had taken Wynne’s place, helping Isabeaux steady the older man. She’d felt his strong hands tentatively touch her back, seeming to seek reassurance that she was still whole. He’d stood next to her, lending his strength, as the fate of the Circle had been decided. Now, he looked down at her waiting. She touched his arm in thanks. 

“I have one more thing I need to do.” Alistair’s eyes narrowed slightly, unhappy at the delay, but understanding the need. He nodded and stepped back to give her the space she wanted.

She got Cullen alone under the guise of checking for wounds. Cullen glowered at her but remained still as she looked him over. When she would ask him questions, his answers were terse. Isabeaux looked in his eyes and only saw hatred. She asked him quietly to speak with her. She wasn’t sure whether she was looking for forgiveness or acceptance but she needed something.

“To think, I once thought we were too hard on you mages. I can see now I was wrong. Magic is truly a curse, and all mages should be locked in the Tower for the safety of others.”

“You can’t really believe that Cullen. Please.” She choked on the words, feeling the tears welling behind her lids and tightening her throat. She watched as his hand rose, as if to touch her cheek, and then fall away without contact. Love flashed in his eyes just once, but he fought it down with anger.

“Mages are a weapon. You aren’t really people, and can never be like me. You will be used by those more powerful to complete some task and then discarded or destroyed, just as the Maker intended.” Isabeaux looked away. Cullen was hurt and angry and she was pushing him when he was vulnerable. It would be best if she left him alone in his pain, because he did not want her help. She took the delicate chain from around her neck and placed the amulet he’d once given her in his hand. Finally, she stood and joined her companions. When she looked back, Cullen’s eyes were on hers.

“Always.” The words may have been whispered, but she knew he’d heard. His eyes closed just as her first tears fell. She had made a promise and would keep it, even if he could not.

Alistair stepped in next to her and took her hand in his. Together they walked through the doors of the Circle. Silently they took the boat across the Lake and headed to the camp, where Bodhan would be waiting for news. As soon as they were on land, Alistair pulled her into his arms and against his chest, letting her grieve. He said nothing, no words were needed. The first rays of light touched the sky.


	20. Duty and Desire

In the early light of dawn, before she could sleep, Isabeaux had slipped out of her armor and into the water of Lake Calenhad. She could no longer stand the stench of dried blood and exertion. Alistair had been solicitous of her health, especially when he felt the need to turn from her nearly naked form. He’d only turned back when he heard her splashing in the lake. 

She’d watched him from the side and almost laughed when Leliana shed her clothing and jumped in to join her. His face had turned a shade so bright red, it was visible in the pale light. She and Leliana had splashed and laughed at the silliness of it all, and Alistair stood watch. 

Isabeaux was grateful for Leliana’s intrusion into her bathing, especially when the other woman let Isabeaux’s hair down and scrubbed it clean. Leliana was turning into a friend that Isabeaux could depend on, and reminded her of a mage that she’d known a long time ago. Leliana kept up a running dialogue that guaranteed that Isabeaux wouldn’t be able to think about what she’d faced and lost. Stories that entertained and amused were the bard’s forte. 

“It is so cute.” She started after dunking Isabeaux and laughing. “He stands vigil over us, even when the threat has passed. Come on, let’s see if we can make him blush again.” The red head started to swim toward shore. Isabeaux slowed her progress.

“Wait, Leliana. Let me freshen your armor.” A bare arm raised above the water and directed just a touch of magic to move through the armor, removing the worst of the stains and airing it out. Her new friend giggled and thanked her before heading toward Alistair. From her point in the water, she could hear her fellow Warden sputter in embarrassment as he was faced with a scantily clad, dripping wet Leliana. Isabeaux looked at her friend and sent a wind toward her, curling around her and drying her off. Alistair had turned so that his back was to Leliana but could still keep an eye on Isabeaux. 

He hadn’t said a word to her since before leaving the circle. When he held her in his arms, there had been no pressure for further intimacy. He was such a sweet man. She blushed as she thought of him watching her, watching over her. She swam closer to shore and gave him a chance to turn his head. She wished that he’d been even the slightest bit reluctant to do so, but he was a gentleman. She smiled and performed the same act of magic on herself that she had on Leliana. Dry, clean and dressed, Alistair escorted her back to the camp. She smiled her thanks and slid into her tent. Reaper was already there, his joy at seeing her sweet and welcoming. Isabeaux buried her face against the hounds neck. Satisfied that she was safe and free, she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

The summons had come early that morning. It requested that Isabeaux please present herself to the First Enchanter of the Circle for a matter of the utmost importance and discretion. She had looked at the missive for quite some time before stirring herself from her tent. Alistair stood waiting for her.

“You don’t have to go, Isabeaux. If you like, I will go in your stead.” Alistair would too, she knew that. She tried to smile at him, for him, but couldn’t work up the energy.

“It’s alright, I can go.” In the end, he went with her.

The First Enchanter needed someone on the outside to aid in the lighting of the funeral pyres on the boats. They wanted to remove the bodies as quickly as possible, in an attempt to return life to some semblance of normality. Isabeaux nodded. She would do this, for the First Enchanter, for all the lives lost and those that she took. When she returned to the camp, she told the others what had been asked of her. Wynne and Leliana immediately offered to assist. Morrigan surprised her by offering her assistance as well. ‘Tit for tat,’ thought Isabeaux. She had returned Flemeth’s grimoire and Morrigan would help her say good bye. The four women mounted the bridge and looked out over the glassy water of the lake. Leliana saw the Templars first. They had been bringing out bodies all morning. The first of the floating pyres was pushed into the water. Wynne called the wind to help push it to a safe distance and then Isabeaux called forth a thin arrow of flame. Over and again, Wynne would help push the flotillas into the middle of the lake and one of the others would set it ablaze. Afternoon slipped into evening and flames still danced upon water. Eventually a messenger came up to where the women stood and told them their duty was done. Isabeaux called up another small breeze, scented with nightflowers. Like a conductor, she lifted the ashes of the dead up, in little eddies, to meet the Maker. Softly, Leliana started to sing, her sweet voice lending a melody to Isabeaux’s gesture of farewell. Their task done, the four women walked off the bridge. It was full dark and the moon and stars were the only light to guide them. At the foot of the bridge stood Alistair, his eyes filled with sadness. Isabeaux held out her hand and was gratified that he took it. He squeezed her hand lightly and led them home.

***

It had been three days and they still hadn’t left Lake Calenhad. Each morning, the summons would come and the women would ready themselves on the bridge. When the moon rose, they left. This morning was different, there had been no summons. Alistair had gone to the Circle Tower to inquire if their services would be needed. All the souls had been sent to the Maker. The Veil was still torn inside the Circle, but they could begin reclaiming the Tower for the mages. Alistair had returned with the good news, but insisted that they stay one more day. Bodhan left the camp to trade for supplies, while Alistair and Isabeaux chose their next destination. 

“We should go to Redcliffe.” Isabeaux’s voice was soft. Alistair looked at her for a moment or two.

“Are you sure? We could continue with the treaties. You were right, those are…” His voice trailed off. He wanted to go to Redcliffe, and it was for a reason outside of the Blight.

“Yes. It’s important to you. We… we should have gone there first. You were right.” She couldn’t look at him. He had been such a good friend to her; she shouldn’t pry into his secrets. 

“No. You were right. I shudder to think what would have happened if we had delayed.” He reached out without looking up from the map and took her hand in his. Their fingers intertwined for a brief minute before both moved their hands away. “Let us celebrate our victory, what do you say? Everyone could use a night in the tavern. We could listen to Leliana tell stories and watch Morrigan terrorize the locals.” 

She turned away from the map and started back to her tent. Alistair stopped her. 

“We’ll leave tomorrow. Everyone will be better off for a night in the tavern.” He held her chin up and smiled into her eyes. The man was irrepressible.

“Alistair, you’ve often made mention that you hate the Chantry. If that’s so, why have you remained a Templar?”

“Have you seen the uniform, it’s not only stylish but well-made. I’m a sucker for good tailoring.” She looked at him and he smiled at her. He went on to talk about how he took solace in the discipline and training. She couldn’t understand how people could have treated him so badly. The more she heard about Arl Eamon and his methods, the angrier on his behalf she felt. His talent and the joy he took in his skill were apparent.

“I enjoyed the training mostly, but I also liked the discipline. You need to have a disciplined mind in order to use the abilities we have. It was difficult but rewarding. I never really felt at home anywhere though, until I joined the Grey Wardens. And Duncan felt my Templar abilities would be useful for when we encountered Darkspawn magic. So I kept it up. What about you, anywhere you consider home?” As soon as he said it, he winced. She touched his hand.

“I guess my home is with the Grey Wardens now… with you.” She sounded apologetic.

“Really? I…” He paused for a minute, trying to find the right words, “I guess I like the sound of that.” He continued to talk about how they wouldn’t always be traveling from place to place and one day it would be time to settle back down. Isabeaux only half listened to him, knowing that chances were good that they would die fighting the archdemon. He felt her pull away without moving and squeezed the hand he still held, lightly. “Tonight, we are going to the tavern. You will relax and have fun.” He lifted her arm and pulled her into a twirl before letting her go. 

***

She was hiding in her tent as the sun went down. She was hoping that they would leave her to her grief when they went out to unwind. 

“Are you decently dressed?” Alistair’s voice was coming from the other side of the tent flap. 

“What if I said no?” She mumbled.

“I’d be tempted to look.” He moved the flap and peeked in. “Come on, we are going to the tavern. Even Sten is going, he promises to look stern and scare people. It should be a great deal of fun.” He wrapped his fingers around her ankle and pulled a little. “Let’s go.” He waited until he was sure she was going to follow and then let go of her. She rolled her eyes but gathered a few things. In an attempt to look normal, she’d allowed Leliana to suggest her clothing. She regretted that decision as she looked down at the exposed skin around her neck and shoulders. According to Leliana, she was decently covered, but Isabeaux was worried about the expanse of cleavage she could see. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure that Alistair would wait for her to change. When she emerged from the tent, he looked her over. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the ground in front of her and missed seeing the heat in Alistair’s eyes. He bowed slightly to her, and held out his arm. 

“You look…” He cleared his throat before going on. “You’ll do.” She curtsied mockingly and tucked her hand in his elbow. As they walked, Alistair told her how he’d been born a bastard and was raised in Redcliffe’s castle. Isabeaux wondered if Arl Eamon really was his father, but said nothing, touched that he would share some of his past. He talked about smashing an amulet that had belonged to his mother. The poor child that Alistair had been tugged at her heart. He was such a kind man, she couldn’t help but be outraged on his behalf. 

Leliana was already holding court when they got to the Tavern. Men and women were crowded around to hear her tell the tale of Ser Aveline. Alistair found the table where Leliana had left Sten, and steered Isabeaux toward it. The whole village knew about the Wardens and their companions. Ale was set in front of them as soon as they sat. Villagers came by to talk to the Wardens, and gawk at the Qunari. Wynne sat near Leliana, and would occasionally accompany her on the flute. Isabeaux was surprised to see such talent in her companions. Leliana begged to be released of singing for a song or two so that she could enjoy the ale. Alistair stood up and offered to sing one song. The patrons clapped their approval as Alistair made his way to Wynne. He leaned in and whispered in her ear. When he stood back up he took a large gulp of his ale before motioning to Wynne to begin playing.

Isabeaux had to make sure her mouth wasn’t hanging open as Alistair sang in a clear, rich baritone. 

“Come over the hills my winsome, lovely lass  
Come over the hills to your darling.  
You choose the road love, and I will make a vow  
That I’ll be your true love for ever

Red is the rose by yonder garden grows  
And fair is the lily of the valley  
Clear is the water that flows from the Dane  
But my love is fairer than any.”

His eyes were locked on her as he sang. He smiled at her blush, never losing the tune. She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to look away. Her mouth was dry and her hands shook. As the song drew to a close, most of the patrons were singing along. She took the opportunity to slip out the front and breathe in the cold clean air.

“Was my singing that bad?” His voice was terrifyingly close, and she didn’t trust herself to turn around. “Isabeaux?” The word was little more than a whisper. She could feel his fingers playing with the strands of hair at the base of her neck. “Isabeaux, turn around, please.”

She turned slowly and looked up at his face. She wanted to tell him it was too soon. It hurt too much, remembering her feelings for Cullen and fearing her feelings for Alistair. 

“Where did you learn to be such a beautiful singer?” He stepped closer to her and her head tipped back so that she could keep looking at him. 

“The stable master in Redcliffe used to sing it when he worked. Aaron loved that song. I’ve always remembered it.” She could hear the admiration and love he held for the mysterious Aaron. Isabeaux reached up and touched his cheek, her fingers fluttering over the rough stubble. His hand reached up and caught her wrist. Then, he turned his head and placed a soft kiss against the center of her palm. Alistair smiled as he heard her breathing become erratic. Isabeaux’s eyes slid shut, trying to hide the desire that flared within her. Letting go of her hand, he wrapped his arm around her waist hand pulled her close. His eyes closed as he felt her against him, soft and warm. 

 

** The song Alistair sings is a modification of "Red is the Rose" - an Irish Ballad. **


	21. Fortunate Interruptions

Isabeaux grinned at Alistair as he continued to glare at Wynne. It was apparent that he blamed the older mage for the interruption last night. Isabeaux couldn’t blame Wynne though. She couldn’t believe that he mage would have plotted to stop an embrace before it changed into something that Alistair would surely regret. It certainly wasn’t Wynne’s fault that her question regarding the whereabouts of Morrigan and Roland had both Alistair and Isabeaux jumping apart. Isabeaux was grateful for the space Wynne had created. The space would give her time to think, and a chance for Alistair to reconsider. As it was, she was trying to avoid Roland and Morrigan. Those two had been engaged in a far more passionate entanglement when she had returned to camp. The sounds coming from the far side of camp had made thinking difficult, at least the thinking she had hoped to accomplish. 

As nothing really called for her attention at that moment, she allowed her mind to wander. On the surface, Alistair and Cullen were the same. Both were tall, handsome Templars with streaks of loyalty wider than the Dane river. Alistair, however, might argue with you until the sun died but he would always defend a person’s right to be wrong. He didn’t seem to care what a person was, but what a person did was very important. Honor, loyalty, honesty were tangibles in Alistair’s world. Cullen worried about appearances and would make blanket assumptions about a person’s character based on the group with which he or she was aligned. 

“Dark thoughts? I would think that the way Alistair keeps looking at you, your thoughts would be of a happier bent.” Leliana had come up next to Isabeaux, nudging Alistair from his place pushing him back into the group. Isabeaux saw his face and tried not to grin. Leliana was unrepentant. The bard obviously smelled a story and wanted the details.

“Nothing happened, Leliana.” She said it quietly. She didn’t want to embarrass Alistair. The sound Leliana made caused Isabeaux to gape at her friend. Then both women chuckled.

“Everyone in Lake Calenhad heard him sing that song, to you. We all saw him rush out after you. I tried to stop Wynne, but…” So, Wynne had planned to interrupt them. Isabeaux wondered why. “After you left, I overheard Alistair and Wynne talking about love. I think he was talking about you.” Isabeaux blushed. Leliana giggled and hugged her friend. Movement down the road had both women pausing. A strange woman was running toward them. Alistair immediately came up next to Isabeaux, glowering at the newcomer. 

“Please! Come quickly! Our caravan was attacked by bandits!” The woman then turned and ran back the way she had come. Isabeaux looked at Alistair and grinned.

“If you were attacked by bandits, which way would you run?” She almost laughed. It had been days since someone tried to kill her.

“Oh, I’d run right back toward the bandits. Wouldn’t you?” Alistair’s words dripped with sarcasm. Isabeaux laughed. “Who do you think is going to try and kill us this time?” 

“There is only one way to find out.” Isabeaux was laughing as he bowed deeply to her with a flourish of his arm. She walked down the path still chuckling as Sten stood behind her, grumbling about walking into traps. She had sent Morrigan, Wynne and Roland on a side path to flank whatever difficulty they were going to encounter. Leliana, Alistair, Reaper and Sten stayed with her. As they turned the corner, she could see the broken down group of wagons. She could feel magic pulsing underneath her feet. The woman who had run to them was a mage of some sort. She would have to be dealt with first, unless there were more hiding behind the overturned wagons. 

“She is reporting to that man at the back.” Alistair tried to be subtle as he pointed to what he saw. She nodded that she’d heard, already preparing for the attack. They heard a crack and they all had to dive out of the way of a falling tree. Isabeaux narrowed her eyes. 

“The Grey Wardens die here.” The man had an accent, so she could cross off angry Fereldens. Before getting up she sent a fist of stone at the ringleader and had the satisfaction of watching him fly backwards. Then she focused on the apostate mage. Ignoring all else, she threw spell after spell at the witch, draining mana and health from the apostate to bolster her own. As the apostate fell, she moved on to the leader. She drew everyone’s attention, pulling the focus off of her companions. From the corner of her eye, she saw Roland, Morrigan and Wynne take out the assassins on the cliff. Sten was using his large sword to cleave through any enemy that tried to sneak up behind them. Leliana shot arrow after arrow into their attackers. Alistair sliced through the enemy like a farmer haying his field. Isabeaux saw none of them, she only saw the elf. The leader of the assassins rushed her and she caught him in a crushing prison, knocking him unconscious. With everyone else dead, she had Roland tie him up. Alistair suggested killing him outright.

“If we kill him, we won’t learn anything.” She prodded the elf with the toe of her boot. The creature woke up slowly moaning. When he had fully come to, he was surprised that they hadn’t just killed him.

“I have some questions. You are going to answer them. If you don’t, I will show you why mages are feared.” She bared her teeth, in a mock smile. The elf, Zevran, smiled at her most winningly and started speaking. Then, he wouldn’t stop. Isabeaux managed a few words here and there, but for the most part, it was a running monologue. When he finally slowed, she realized that he was offering to join them.

“And why not? I can offer you many services. Pick locks, shine shoes… I could even warm your bed if you like.” Zevran’s voice was made to make women quiver with need. Isabeaux considered his offer of service. She couldn’t deny an attraction to the elf, but it wasn’t the need she felt around Alistair. 

“Is that before or after you stab me in the back?” Isabeaux affected the haughty demeanor that she’d heard other women use. Zevran laughed, and Alistair choked on something.

“The things you say must drive the men absolutely mad with desire. Let me join you. What do you say?”

“You must think I am royally stupid.”

“I think you are royally tough to kill, and utterly gorgeous.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that I think you will respond to simple flattery.” Isabeaux could hear Leliana chuckling through the whole exchange and wished she could look at her friend.

Isabeaux closed her eyes and sought guidance. No one spoke, not even Sten. They waited for her to make a decision. “Alright. You may come with us.” She leaned down and cut his bonds. “If you try to turn on us, I will make whatever punishment that the Crows would mete out look like a garden party.”

“Vixen, you tease so.” Zevran purred the words softly. Isabeaux ignored him and started to walk away. Alistair ran to catch up with her.

“We are taking the assassin with us now?” Alistair was indignant. “He did just try to kill us.” Isabeaux looked at Alistair but couldn’t decipher his thoughts. 

“We need all the help we can get, Alistair. If he causes a problem…” Alistair’s face was a mix of anger and surprise. Isabeaux found that he was attractive no matter his mood, and heart beat heavily in her chest. She bit her lip, trying not to let Alistair see how he made her feel.

“Fine, but if ever there was a sign that we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said ‘hello’.” He crossed his arms and glared at the elf. She looked beyond Alistair and considered the newest member of their group. Zevran was handsome, there was no denying it. The object of her consideration looked at her and smiled; she smiled back automatically. Alistair growled something, drawing her attention up.

“What is it Alistair?” They were so close she could feel the head of his body. She wished that it was dark, and that he had his arms around her. His looks was so soft, so earnest. “If you want, I will send Zevran on his way.” Alistair shook his head.

“We won’t make it to Redcliffe tonight.” 

“I’m so sorry, Alistair. Are you sure? We could push on until we reach it. The others will be fine with it.”

Alistair shook his head. “After today’s attack, I want to be able to see what’s coming. We’ll make camp soon though, and then we need to talk.” Saddened, and sure that he was going to tell her that last night was a mistake, she nodded at him and continued along the path. He touched her shoulder but she ignored the gesture, afraid that she would lose it in front of everyone. She would be fine, she told herself, she was a Grey Warden.


	22. By Any Other Name

She avoided Alistair as they made camp, excusing herself to gather firewood, and then herbs for the dinner meal. She managed to stay on the opposite side of the camp until well after dark. Once or twice, she had seen Alistair talking animatedly to Leliana and tried to ignore the pinch in her chest. Alistair wasn’t hers, the Maker had grander plans for him. She’d ignored Roland, avoided Sten, she’d even managed to evade Morrigan, all of whom tried to talk to her. Isabeaux knew that they wouldn’t listen to her. She didn’t want to lead, she merely wanted to do her duty and end the Blight. Was that wrong? Was it so terrible that she wanted to fall in love, to have a man of character and honor love her back? Of course it was, she was a mage. She waited until everyone had gathered for dinner and then slipped into her tent. The small lantern she had would be sufficient to look at the map of Ferelden; she needed to know where they were, and what they would do next.

A breeze at her back startled her. Alistair had entered her tent, filling it with his presence.

“Isabeaux.” His voice was so soft. It caressed her skin and she turned unwillingly toward him. “Here, look at this. Do you know what this is?” He placed a dark red rose in her hand. She resisted the urge to sniff the flower in her hand.

“Your new weapon of choice?” 

“Ha, yes, that’s right! Watch as I thrash our enemies with the might power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, Darkspawn. I will overpower you with my rosy scent.” He pretended to brandish a bouquet of roses at some Darkspawn while making his jokes. She giggled into her free hand, afraid to crush the delicate rose. Eventually he calmed down and stepped closer to her, his breastplate almost touching her. “Or, it could just be a rose. I know that’s pretty dull in comparison.” The only thing separating them was her hand, and the rose.

“Sentiment can be a pretty potent weapon.” She couldn’t look at him, afraid of where the conversation was going.

“Is it that easy to see right through me? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. When I saw it in Lothering. I remember thinking, ‘How can something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness? I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn’t. The Darkspawn would have come and their taint would just destroy it. So I’ve had it ever since.” His hand slid up under hers, supporting the flower.

“That’s… that’s a nice sentiment.” Her mouth was going dry. “What did you intend to do with it?” She chewed her bottom lip nervously.

“I thought I might… give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you.”

“Thank you, Alistair. That’s a lovely thought.”

“I’m glad you like it. I was just thinking, here I am doing all this complaining, and you haven’t exactly been having a good time of it yourself. You’ve had none of the good experience of being a Warden since your Joining, not a word of thanks or congratulations. It’s all been death and fighting and tragedy. I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this… darkness.” He leaned in his lips just inches from hers.

“I… I feel the same way about you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I’m glad you like it. Now… if we could move right on past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I’d appreciate it.” She stepped back and chuckled.

“Aw. And you were doing so well, too.” A smile creased his face.

“Oh? Your loss, then. All the ladies go on and on about how suave I am. I don’t know how you can resist me like you do. Hey, look, is that a cloud? I expect rain.” He was examining the top of her tent. Isabeaux clutched the rose to her breast and touched his cheek gently. He looked into her eyes and she felt herself melt. He smiled as her eyes flicked from his lips to his eyes. 

"So, after all this time we have spent together… you know the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles, with the whole blight looming over us… will you miss it once it’s over?” His voice had taken on a husky quality.

“Miss the constant battles or miss you?” She was having trouble following his thoughts.

“I know it… might sound strange, considering we really haven’t known each other very long, but I have come to… care for you. A great deal. I think perhaps it’s because we’ve gone through so much together, I don’t know. Or… maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m fooling myself.

“Am I? Fooling myself? Or, do you think you might ever… feel the same way about me?”

Isabeaux was stunned. Was he even aware of what he was asking? “Do you think I could risk my heart again with a human man? Much less a Templar?” Her fear had taken voice. Alistair’s eyes searched hers for some sort of answer. He had closed much of the gap between them and they were almost sharing breath.

“I… I don’t know. I hope so. I’m not like him, Isabeaux.”

“I know you aren’t like him, Alistair. I…” she smiled, unable to go on and hoped he could see the answer in her eyes.

Slowly, not allowing her to look away he pressed his lips gently against hers. Isabeaux moaned slightly and leaned into him. Alistair pulled her close, molding her body to his. His lips rubbed her softly, insistently, willing her to open to him. His hand cupped her cheek, turning her head to fit her better to him. He pulled back just a breath and looked at her. 

“That wasn’t too soon? Was it?” He sounded nervous. She shook her head, hoping he would shut up and kiss her again. “Good. I’ll take that as a good sign. Maker’s breath but you are beautiful. I am a lucky man.” His mouth descended on hers again, making his claim and branding her soul. His tongue licked at the seam of her lips and demanded entrance. She opened her mouth slightly, and was undone by his deep, shuddering moan. Breathing hard, he lifted his head and looked at her. Isabeaux opened her eyes, they were glazed with desire and she fought hard to focus on him. Heat and need built between them. He kissed her even more insistently. Her eyes drifted closed again, thinking of nothing but the pleasure he brought to her. Someone knocked at the tent flap and called for Isabeaux. Alistair slid his mouth to her cheek, kissing and whispering to her. “Ignore them, Isabeaux. Stay with me. Just for a little bit longer.” She nodded into his neck, unable to speak. She just wanted to stay like this forever.


	23. Unfortunate Revelations

Alistair stopped her on the bluff overlooking the village of Redcliffe. In the distance she could see Redcliffe Castle. The others stopped as well, but with a glance and a nod of the head, Leliana shepherded the whole group down the path a way to give the two Wardens a bit of privacy.

“Look, can we talk a moment? I need to tell you something, I, ah, should have probably told you earlier.” Alistair looked vaguely green. Isabeaux reached out and touched his hand. They had been very careful around the others, after he ravished her mouth in her tent last night. They hadn’t touched each other since. Isabeaux had been fine with the unspoken decision, just walking next to him made her feel as if she might burst into flames. His serious tone worried her though, and she broke her rule against public displays of affection. His fingers intertwined with hers and squeezed slightly. 

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Her question was hesitant. She knew the unspoken social rules in Ferelden. A human male could dally with an elf, but not form serious relationships with them. Her stomach clenched and she did her best not to compare Alistair to Cullen.

“I… I don’t know. I doubt it. I’ve never liked it, that’s for sure.” He didn’t let go of her hand, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze either. “I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me, right? That my mother was a serving girl in the castle and he took me in? Well, the reason he did that…” He paused, looking for the right words. Swallowing hard, he went on. “The reason he did that was because my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my… half-brother, I suppose.” She looked hard at Alistair trying to find a connection between him and the King she’d met at Ostagar. 

“So, that means you’re not just a bastard but a royal bastard?” She was trying to wrap her head around his pronouncement. His soft bark of laughter startled her, and amusement had replaced worry in his eyes.

“Yes, I guess it does at that. I should use that line more often.” She looked away, trying to fight the fatalistic feeling in her bones. No matter how she felt about Alistair, and if last night were any indication she was half-way in love with him already, there could be nothing lasting between them. He would become king. Tears burned her eyes. Mistaking her emotion he plowed on. “I would have told you, but… it never really meant anything to me. I was… inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan’s rule and so they kept me a secret. I’ve never talked about it to anyone.

“Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me… even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I… I didn’t want you to know as long as possible. I’m sorry.” She couldn’t look at him, afraid that she would break. Hateful, dark thoughts ran through her mind. He put his free hand under her chin and lifted it, forcing her eyes onto his. “I just wanted you to like me, for me.” 

The smile she gave him was wobbly. “I think I understand, Alistair.” He sighed with relief.

“Good, I’m glad. It’s not like I got special treatment for it anyhow. At any rate, that’s it. That’s what I had to tell you. I thought you should know about it.” His thumb rubbed lightly against her bottom lip, reminding her of the kisses they had shared in the darkness.

“Are you sure? You’re not hiding anything else?”

“Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair? No, that’s it, just the prince thing.”

“You’re a prince.” She had to say it out loud to get her mind to accept it. “Somehow, I find that very… thrilling.” She softened her voice and it was filled with the aching she felt inside. Ignoring the other’s presence just around the bend, he closed the gap between then and lowered his face to hers. 

“Oh? Did I just find the one damn decent thing about my birthright? I think I did.” This close, he could see uncertainty warring with desire in her eyes. He rushed to fix the breach, guessing her fear correctly. “I have no illusions about my status, however. It has always been made very clear that I’m a commoner, and now a Grey Warden and in no way in line for the throne.

“And… that’s fine by me. No, if there’s an heir to be found, it’s Arl Eamon. He’s not of royal blood, but he is Cailan’s uncle… and more importantly, very popular with the people.” He backed up a bit, thinking of Eamon and worrying. “Though, if he’s really as sick as we’ve heard… no, I don’t want to think about that, I really don’t. So. There you have it. Now, can we move on, and I’ll just pretend you still think I’m some… nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens.” 

“I never thought of you as a nobody, Alistair.” The words were whispered, barely audible to her ears.

“What?” He’d leaned again, filling her space with his presence. His hand had moved to cup her face softly; she fought not to lean into it. 

“You’re here… with me. I think I’m the lucky one.” He leaned in and kissed her hard, their individual fears making them rough with each other. When they parted, he was breathing hard and his eyes were glassy with want.

“I can’t believe I didn’t say something sooner to you. I was totally unworthy of such a compliment.” He leaned in again and placed a light kiss on her lips, an apology for the tale or the roughness she wasn’t sure. Sensing the others standing nearby, she backed away and looked at the ground. “Isabeaux?”

She painted a smile on her face and tried to hide the pain she still felt. “The others are waiting, and if we don’t join them soon, they will join us.” 

He started to speak again but Leliana called out. “Are we going to go into Redcliffe? Today?” He shook his head as Isabeaux chuckled behind her hand.

“We should get going into the village. We need more information to help the Arl.” Isabeaux started walking as she spoke. Her legs were wobbly and she really didn’t want to answer any of the questions that were on the others faces. She walked through the crowd of companions calling to Zevran and Sten to follow. Reaper leapt after her and the four left the others behind. She hadn’t gotten far when she heard the pounding of running feet. Isabeaux didn’t have to look up, she could feel Alistair getting closer, pushing through the other men to take his place at her side. So far, she hadn’t been able to get him to lead but his willingness to be an equal pleased her. They were walking into his home village and he should at least appear to be the vanguard. 

The road leading to Redcliffe was edged with houses, but none of them sported life. She looked at Alistair who had no more idea as to why they were empty than she. The whole of the countryside was quiet, no people, no animals; there weren’t even any songbirds in the trees. She shivered and Alistair, seeing it, touched her arm lightly, reassuring her. 

“Just down the hill is the village bridge. Just beyond it the road forks, one side goes to the village. The other goes to the castle. We should be able to see if there is movement in the village. If not, we should press on to the castle.” Alistair’s voice was overly loud in the silence. Isabeaux nodded; surprised that he would put forth his ideas without being asked. 

As they approached the bridge, someone scrambled up from the shade on the other side and walked to meet the group in the center.

“Thank the Maker and all the good spirits you’ve come. I wasn’t sure that we were ever going to get help.” The man was of middling age and height. The most outstanding thing about him was his fear. 

“What do you mean? What’s going on here?” Isabeaux used the same voice she had used with the newest children come to the Tower. Behind it, she pushed a little magic trying to get the man to calm down and provide them with as much information as he could.

“You mean you haven’t heard? You haven’t come to help?”

“We’ve… we’ve heard the Arl is ill. Beyond that, I am afraid with the other troubles in Ferelden, we haven’t gotten much news.” 

“THE ARL COULD BE DEAD FOR ALL WE KNOW!” The man panicked, yelling and trembling. Isabeaux opened herself to a little more power and worked hard to soothe the man. The three men closest to her, stared at her as the magic touched them too. “I… I am sorry. For the past few nights we have been beset by horrible creatures in the night, mistress. They come in the darkness and kill… Oh! They have killed so many people, mistress.” The man started to sob softly. Isabeaux moved forward to comfort the man. Within a minute or so, the man had collected himself. “I should take you to the Bann. He asked to see all newcomers. I think he is hoping that help is coming.” 

Isabeaux backed away and let the man lead them down the hill and into the village.

“What did you do to that man?” Alistair whispered, hoping that their guide wouldn’t overhear them.

“I used a calming spell on him. Someone or something has been using magic here, pushing fear at them with a heavy hand. I can practically taste the energy of malignant forces. Could you… could you ask Wynne if she feels it too?” She was telling him the truth, though she had softened it a bit. The dark energy that had blanketed the area was making her stomach churn. 

“I will in a bit. Are you alright?” His concern was touching. She looked over at him, not quite able to meet his eyes and smiled sadly.

“Are you two going to kiss again? My friend Alistair, I could give you some pointers that would make it difficult for her to stay away from your arms for long.” Zevran’s voice was filled with laughter. Isabeaux turned her head to look at him and then grinned. Trust an Antivan to make a bad joke at an even worse time. The man was irrepressible. He reached out and touched Isabeaux’s chin, making Alistair growl something unintelligible. When Isabeaux looked up at Alistair, he was looking straight ahead with a scowl on his face. She touched the back of Alistair’s hand and gave him a questioning look. Her fellow Warden looked at her and rolled his eyes and then smiled slightly. Isabeaux didn’t understand men. Right at that moment, she wasn’t exactly sure she wanted to, but decided that she needed to talk to Leliana as soon as she could.

They’d walked through the village center. Where the outskirts had been completely empty, the square was a hive of activity. Their guide didn’t even slow, pushing his way through the villagers and headed to the Chantry. The door creaked open and the whole group allowed themselves to be enveloped in the darkness of the building.


	24. Relatives

Isabeaux was surprised that the number of people crowded into the chantry. Most were old and infirmed or young and unattended. Her heart went out to those children. How many had parents outside preparing to fight a battle that they could never be prepared for? How many had already lost their families? 

Even with all of the people within the village Chantry’s walls, their footsteps echoed off the walls. 

Their guide led them to the end of the vestibule and stopped right in front of a well-dressed noble. Handsome and young, he appeared to be about fifteen years or so older than Alistair. She tried to pause her train of thought to contemplate why she had compared him to Alistair. He was tall with medium length reddish-brown hair. It was apparent from the facial hair, that he normally had a neatly trimmed goatee, but the scruff on his cheeks showed a rough couple of nights. His eyes were a beautiful dark green. 

“Thomas. It is Thomas, right? And who are our guests?” The guide, Thomas, touched his forelock in a gesture of respect before speaking.

“They were coming down the road to the village. I brought them to you, Bann Teagan, just like you asked.” The Bann smiled at the man and even Isabeaux could feel the waves of reassurance that the Bann gave off. Having dismissed Thomas, he turned his attention to Isabeaux and her companions. His green eyes held Isabeaux’s for longer than was proper before smiling and including everyone.

“Welcome to Redcliffe. I am Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere.” Isabeaux blushed slightly as the man stepped forward slightly and placed himself directly in front of her.

“Bann Teagan. I remember you, although it has been some time. I was younger then… and covered in mud.” Alistair spoke almost apologetically. Isabeaux was grateful that he had drawn the Bann’s attention and stepped back, slightly closer to Zevran than Alistair. Her fellow Warden noticed and narrowed his eyes at the movement but could spare little time for it, as Teagan considered his statement.

“Covered in mud? Alistair! Is that you? I am so glad to see you alive. I’d thought you had fallen at Ostagar.” The man opened his arms and embraced Alistair in a familial hug that said many good things about his character. Isabeaux watched the exchange with a smile on her face. Zevran, sensing her nervousness, slid a hand down her arm and squeezed her hand lightly. To Isabeaux it seemed to say that she was just as good as either man, so she shouldn’t be nervous.

“No thanks to Teyrn Loghain.” Anger marred Alistair’s handsome face, but Isabeaux couldn’t blame him for the feeling. She wanted to run the traitor through with a sword as well.

“So I see. Teyrn Loghain would have us all believe that the all the Wardens fell at Ostagar with my nephew, Cailan.” Isabeaux’s jaw dropped a bit, but she recovered quickly.

“No. Not all of us died.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Teagan heard her. He stepped closer to her, away from Alistair. The Bann took one of her hands in his and lifted it to his lips.

“So you are a Grey Warden as well?” He didn’t let go of her hand right away, but moved imperceptibly closer. “I wasn’t aware such loveliness existed in the Wardens.” Isabeaux blushed and tried to slip her hand from the Bann’s grip, without causing a stir. She looked helplessly at Alistair who had been glaring at the exchange. When he caught her expression, he smiled slightly. 

“Bann Teagan, what can you tell us about the evenings in the village? Why is everyone training in the square.” Alistair’s voice was low, but loud enough for all of the companions and Teagan to hear. The question stopped Teagan’s advance enough so that Isabeaux could slide out of his path. 

“I wish I knew what was going on. I had heard that my brother was gravely ill, so I came as soon as I could. When I got here, the village had already been besieged. Whatever is going on, it happens after dark. Horrible creatures descend upon the town. Every morning, there are new dead, and every night more creatures attack. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important, but… Alistair would you and your companions please help us?”

“It isn’t just up to me. If it were, you couldn’t stop me.” Alistair looked at Isabeaux. It was apparent that he wanted to help the village and she wouldn’t be able to deny him; especially after all he did at the Tower.

“We’ll help. Who will we need to speak with?” Teagan’s eyes lit with hope. He took in all of the companions and saw many swords among them. Teagan motioned to another man who stood nearby. 

“Tell Murdock and Ser Perth that we will have help this evening. They will be along soon.” The man ran to complete the Bann’s request. 

“This is a waste of time. There are no Darkspawn here.” Sten’s deep voice rumbled in the Chantry. Isabeaux turned toward him. 

“We will need the Arl’s help with the Blight. That means that it is important that we help these people.” Isabeaux said it in her most matter of fact tone. Sten grunted and relented. She leaned closer to him and added quietly, “Think of his as another step in your atonement.” The Qunari grunted and then smiled slightly. She looked at Alistair and motioned toward the door. When they had stepped away from the Bann, she conferred with Alistair quietly. Isabeaux wanted it to look like Alistair was in charge, at least in front of Teagan. 

Together they broke the group up and sent people where they were needed most. Leliana and Wynne were to stay in the Chantry. Mostly because Wynne was an accomplished healer and Leliana had been in the Chantry. Both women would also act as the last line of defense with Teagan, should the others fall. Morrigan and Roland were sent to the lake, to check for access possibilities for the monsters to approach from that position. Isabeaux had little hope that anything would be accomplished there, Morrigan and Roland were not bound by the same rules of propriety and were more absorbed in each other than their task. Alistair hoped that Roland, being a knight, would take his job seriously. Sten and Zevran were to stay with the Wardens. Isabeaux wanted Zevran in her line of sight and Sten was Sten. The four of them would take care of the needs of the village, preparing them for the attack. Alistair requested that they get more information from Teagan and asked Sten and Zevran to wait for them just outside the Chantry.

“Try not to talk to anyone, Zevran.” Isabeaux’s tone was light and teasing. She turned to go with Alistair and saw anger etched deep on his face. “Alistair?”

He looked down at her, and while the anger didn’t go away, it lessened. “Let’s talk to Teagan and figure out what we are up against. That way as we are helping to prepare the villagers, we aren’t just wasting our time.” He took her hand gently and led her back to the Bann. Teagan had a grin on his face as they returned and led them to a small seating area to the side. It was obvious by its uncrowded nature that the villagers had reserved this area for the Bann and his audiences. Isabeaux let Alistair do all the talking, trying not to fidget under the other man’s increased scrutiny. Eventually, she couldn’t resist anymore.

“Ser, what about your family? Are they here as well? Or are they trapped in the Castle?” Teagan smiled wickedly and Isabeaux distinctly felt like a rabbit facing down a fox.

“Are you asking if I am married? Um… no. I’ve… I’ve never had the pleasure. If I did, I could only hope to find someone as kind, brave and beautiful as you. Then, I would count myself to be a lucky man.” The Bann reached out and took one of Isabeaux’s hands in his, raised it to his lips and kissed it softly. Isabeaux blushed, confused and nervous. 

“You would be very lucky indeed, Uncle.” Alistair’s voice sounded strained. Isabeaux looked at her fellow Warden and silently asked him what to do, but he was too busy staring at the hand Teagan was kissing. 

“May I ask, my lady, are you married?” The Bann purred the question, making her squirm a bit. He still hadn’t let go of her hand. She had, however, gone from feeling like a rabbit to merely a juicy bone two dogs were fighting over. Isabeaux didn’t like the comparison her imagination was making and pulled slightly to free her hand.

“No, my lord. I am not married, nor do I think I will be. I am a mage.” She hoped by voicing her status, he would lose interest and she and Alistair could get back to work, or, at least she could. The Bann shifted his eyes to Alistair with a wicked twinkle, before capturing her in his gaze again.

“A strong man wouldn’t let a little thing like you being a mage stand in his way. Your beauty, wit and strength would be a gift worth fighting to keep. If you have any doubts…” He let her finish the sentence in her imagination and chuckled as she blushed. When she felt steady enough to walk without running into anything, she stood to excuse herself from the men’s presence. 

Alistair grumbled something as she started to leave, but stopped her. He took her hand, bowed over it in the most gallant manner, and kissed it softly. Just feeling his touch made her heart race. She bit her lip and blushed. 

“Alistair.” It should have been a simple word, just his name, but it carried the weight of promise, desire and a most profound wish. Alistair stood straight, proud, and bid his uncle farewell. Tucking her hand in his arm, he led her out of the Chantry and into the bright afternoon sun. At their backs, she could hear Teagan’s throaty chuckle.


	25. Redcliffe Blues

Murdock, it turned out, was the village mayor. He was a gruff man with a raspy voice and smelled heavily of tobacco. The mayor remembered Alistair from his time in Redcliffe as a boy, and was proud that the rapscallion had made “something of himself” by becoming a Warden. Alistair grinned at the man like they were old friends and then introduced Isabeaux as a “fellow Grey Warden”. Alistair slipped his hand in hers and pulled her a little bit further forward from the group. She was surprised that when she stood at his side, he held fast to her hand. Murdock seemed surprised that a woman, much less an elven woman, would be recruited by the Grey Wardens. Isabeaux smiled and did not bring up the fact that she was a mage. She remembered seeing the man, from a distance, when she stopped here with Duncan. She listened vaguely to the man’s requests and nodded, distracted by the small circles that Alistair’s thumb was making on the back of her hand. She was to speak with the blacksmith, who was not speaking to the town, and find a stubborn dwarf by the name of Dwyn. 

Isabeaux looked at Alistair as they left the Mayor. She had so many questions, at the top of which was, “What’s going on?” She kept her mouth shut. He didn’t release her hand until they were done getting their instructions from Murdock, and even then, his fingers lingered near hers whenever they were close to each other. 

She went and spoke to the blacksmith first. He was closer and more important to the Mayor’s needs. It turned out that Owen the smith was angry at the whole town because they wouldn’t go find his daughter in the Castle. Isabeaux could sympathize. It was hard to worry about family and not do anything, but he seemed oblivious to the fact that until the town was safe, they couldn’t go looking for his girl. Isabeaux promised they would look for her and let him know whatever they found, as soon as they could get to the Castle. Owen grumped at her but promised that he would re-light his forge and help the village. Sten almost ruined it by speaking. Isabeaux wished she’d left him and Zevran outside, neither seemed to be too worried about the plight of others. Regardless of the Qunari’s words, Owen started work repairing good immediately. Satisfied, Isabeaux pushed the others outside. 

They had just started back across the square toward Murdock when Leliana ran up to Isabeaux. “You have to find Bevin!”

Isabeaux blinked a few times before she could respond. “Who or what is a Bevin?” It turned out that one of the village children ran off that morning and his sister was frantic. Sten opened his mouth to say something and Isabeaux elbowed him sharply. When he looked down at her she merely shook her head. She was tired of people being unhelpful. Isabeaux agreed to look for the child, getting her a grateful hug from Leliana. The bard then loped back into the Chantry to continue her good deeds and the four went off in search of Dwyn and Bevin. Their search took them near the lake, where Morrigan and Roland were. Under the guidance and supervision of the knight, Morrigan was using her magic to seal up an odd looking rift in a hillside. Isabeaux followed the line up and saw it end a few meters below a massive Windmill. ‘There’s a land bridge that connected the windmill and the Castle, and if the monsters were coming from there…’ Isabeaux blanched at the thought. Satisfied that everyone was working, she resumed her search for Bevin and Dwyn. She found Dwyn first, an arrogant little man with two bodyguards. He was rude until she displayed just a touch of her power, then he was pleasantly willing to go out and protect his home. She watched him leave with narrowed eyes; he’d agreed too easily and would require watching.

Bevin was a scared little boy, hiding in his home. Isabeaux wanted to send the men away and soothe the boy’s fears but they wouldn’t leave her side. She reassured him as best she could that he would be safe during the night’s attack. His eyes widened when he found out that Sten would be outside protecting him. The boy offered his grandfather’s sword as payment. Isabeaux took the sword, but knowing the child’s plight, left alone with only his sister, she vowed to pay for the sword. They escorted Bevin back to the Chantry and Isabeaux gave Bevin’s sister gold for the sword.

Once outside again, Sten stopped her. “That was an honorable thing you have done.” Isabeaux raised an eyebrow, confused. Sten clarified. “The sword. Many of your kind, those who don’t follow the Qun would have made a promise to pay for the weapon and then never followed through. It was an honorable act.”

“Sten, I try not to make promises that I cannot deliver upon. Even with Owen, I promised to look for his daughter and would send word as to what I found. If I can find nothing, then I will tell him that. I am hoping that she found a way to stay safe, but I couldn’t promise her safe return.” Isabeaux tried to make it as clear as she could for her companion. Sten nodded his comprehension, but his grin of respect did not fade.

Murdock, pleased that his needs were met, sent the group of them to the top of the hill to meet with Ser Perth. Alistair and Zevran insisted on stopping in the tavern though. Zevran immediately flirted with the waitress and Alistair talked to the bartender. Isabeaux sat down, grateful that the men ordered food for her as well as themselves and sat down to wait for it. At the end of the table was another elf. Zevran sat next to Isabeaux and followed her line of sight.

“My dear Warden, he doesn’t look like he belongs. Does he?” The words were whispered in her ear and to the casual observer it looked like Zevran was flirting with her. When the barmaid came back, Isabeaux and Zevran quietly asked about the elf in the corner. Berric, it turned out, had been a visitor to Redcliffe and claimed to be waiting for his brother. Isabeaux chose to find out more, the elf’s story wasn’t sitting right with her. 

Zevran purred into her ear again. “Pretend he is your reluctant love. Seduce the information from him.” 

“That doesn’t really work. Does it?” There were times when she regretted being sent to the Tower. Many interactions between friends and lovers were blurred here. The Circle had its own rules to these kinds of games. While flirtations were common place, the players knew when it was merely passing the time, and when it was serious. Mages were straightforward when they wanted intimacy, they really didn’t have the luxury of hiding intent. It often made her uncomfortable, but she preferred that to the constant confusion she felt.

“It would work on me.” Zevran. waggled his eyebrows at her. She merely sighed and started to go toward Berric. “Wait. You need to look ready for sex.” He reached up and loosened her hair, tousling it about her shoulders. He reached into his pack and brought out a small jar. He rubbed the contents on her lips, making them feel slick and soft. Finally, Zevran took her staff. “No sense in scaring him. You know, with the way you look, ignore him and ask me your questions.”

Isabeaux rolled her eyes and walked away as Zevran grabbed the barmaid and swung her into his lap. She flicked her eyes toward Alistair, but he was in conversation with the barkeep. Sten watched her progress, his head tilted as if trying to figure out her methods. Isabeaux slid lightly next to Berric and propped her chin in her hand. The elf looked warily at her, at first and then smiled.

“I hear your name is Berric.” She tried to purr the words, thinking of kissing Alistair to soften the question. Berric’s eyes blurred for a second. Maybe Zevran was right.

“Uh… yes. How did you know?” He leaned in, a dazed smile on his face.

“I asked around. It’s not often I see someone as handsome as you. Are you new in town?”

He stuttered something about waiting for his brother. Then, as if remembering something he shook his head and cleared his throat. “Listen, you are very pretty and all but… I’m not really looking for company.” She smiled and touched his hand. Opening herself to her power, she pinned the elf in place, and let him feel the invisible cage closing.

“You aren’t waiting for your brother. So, why are you here?”

“I… I… I was told to keep watch.” He was nervous and getting more so, and it had nothing to do with her.

“Keep watch for what?” Isabeaux lowered her voice and slowed her speech so that he would understand everything she asked, even as afraid as he was.

“Very important men told me to keep watch for anything unusual. One of Arl Howe’s men gave me money and orders. It’s all legal. I know people.” When she just raised her eyebrows, he kept talking. “I was about to leave, because nothing new had happened after the poisoning. But then the monsters came and I’ve been stuck here.”

“Poisoning? Who was…” She stopped herself, Arl Eamon… it had to be the Arl. It would explain the sudden illness. “Who poisoned him?”

“I don’t know. I just want to get out of here.”

“How do I know that you are telling the truth?” The man told her that his orders were in his pouch, and without releasing him; she reached in the little satchel and pulled out the orders, reading them twice before taking them. “You should atone by fighting for the villagers. Don’t even try to run. I’ll kill you before you leave the village. Understood?”

Berric nodded and then slumped as she released the power that caged him. He got up, gathered his things and ran. Sten approved of her tactics, happy that there would be one more on the battlefield. Alistair took the letter from her and read it a few times. The mystery as to who and why kept getting deeper, Isabeaux thought that at the end of the trail, they would find Loghain. Zevran laughed and exclaimed over her new sexuality. She re-tied her hair and then wiped her lips clean. Tired of the games, she took her food, paid for it and left to look for Ser Perth.

Zevran, with the barmaid on his lap, watched her walk out followed closely by Alistair.

“What in the Maker’s name do you think you were doing?” She flinched at the anger in his voice. He ran to her and grabbed her arm, spinning her around. Isabeaux was already embarrassed for allowing herself to be made up to look like a doxie and then act like one. It was like trying to dress up a cow and pass it off as a fine lady, she knew that, he didn’t have to rub it in. Her face was bright red with embarrassment and she was tired of the feeling. 

“You don’t need to point out that I looked the fool. I’m sure Zevran got a good laugh out of it. Leliana, I’m not.” She scrubbed at her lips with the back of her hand, still feeling the rouge that Zevran had placed there. His touch softened as he heard the pain in her voice and he stopped the scrubbing.

“You looked beautiful. Every man here has watched you, wanted you. I know, I have. I don’t want you to get hurt by someone thinking the wrong thing.” He was still angry. She could see it in his face, but she didn’t see any lies there.

“What’s the right thing Alistair? I’m a mage. Men pretty much run after they find that out. It’s not like I had all that many men interested in me before. Out here, outside the Circle, I’m a freak.” She started to struggle but he just pulled her closer to him; when she was close enough, he kissed her long and hard. His worry, his jealousy, his anger pouring out of him, bruising her lips and causing her heart to pound wildly. 

“You are lovely with your hair down like you had it. That rouge made your lips begged to be kissed. The thought that you might, even in jest…” He spoke against her cheek before pulling her back into another punishing kiss. She wanted him to do more, to claim her more thoroughly, but didn’t know how to ask it of him. He was raised as a gentleman, not a mage. Tears streaked down her cheeks as confusion churned inside of her. His head turned and he saw Zevran and Sten walking down the path toward them. Firmly, he set her away from him, and blocked the other men’s view as she put herself to rights. “Very soon, Isabeaux, we are going to have another conversation about this. Until then, for my sake, my sanity… try not to be so…” He trailed off, unsure how to say it. 

Isabeaux wiped her cheeks, as confused as before. Alistair stood before her, a human curtain until she was sure she’d put herself to rights, more or less. Alistair took her hand and stripped her gauntlet off slowly, watching her eyes as he did so. Then, uncaring of the audience, he placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist, his tongue flicking out and igniting a thrill that shot up her spine. Just as slowly, he replaced the gauntlet and motioned for her to lead the way to Ser Perth. 

“Very soon, Isabeaux.”

Ser Perth was standing in the sun surveying the battlefield to come. He and his men had set up blockades to slow the enemy but were unsure of the effectiveness of their placing. It didn’t really matter much, sundown would be in a few hours and then the blackest part of the void would be on them. He looked at the small group and waved. It was apparent to Isabeaux that he had dismissed her as soon as he realized she was female, and he was openly unsure of Sten who towered over him. Alistair let her lead this conversation, obviously wanting her to see how little men paid attention to her.

“Ser Perth. Bann Teagan sent us up here to see if we could assist in the preparations in any way.” She spoke quietly but with confidence that she didn’t really feel.

“I must confess, I have no idea how to address an elf in your position. Would my lady be sufficient?” She heard twin growls from Alistair and Zevran, but didn’t understand what set the men off. 

“You may address me as Grey Warden or Isabeaux. I’m not a noble. I’m a mage.” She honestly didn’t care what he called her, or if he addressed her. She wanted to do what needed doing and then resolve this undead monster issue. Ser Perth’s fear of the Qunari was immediately transferred to her. She pushed and prodded him into telling him what he needed. Told him of a large store of oil that was in the general store to light the creatures a flame and then left to gather his paltry medallions for his weakened faith. They walked back to the chantry, got the medallions for Ser Perth and trudged back up the hill. The sun was almost down and Ser Perth and his men, while not thrilled she would be fighting alongside them, were grateful for the amulets she’d had to bully from the Revered Mother. Isabeaux chose to wait and see these creatures in person, laying magical traps about the area to assist in the capture and destruction of such things. Alistair, Zevran and Sten made their own preparations. If they fell, so be it, but it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.


	26. Malevolence and Irritation

‘Well, I never want to do that again.’ Isabeaux thought. She was covered in a sticky, black film and ash from the creatures that they had spent all night battling. It was a near thing a number of times. Up by the windmill, they had been nearly over taken with wave after wave of walking corpses. She was glad that Wynne had taught her a few things about healing. Isabeaux had needed to tend to Alistair’s and Sten’s wounds more than once. Zevran was excellent at getting out of harm’s way at the last second. Fortunately as the onslaught of undead picked up within the borders of the village, is slowed to a trickle at the windmill. Ser Perth promised that they would be able to withstand any further incursions. 

They had run to the village. Morrigan and Roland were doing their best, but they also had to contend with the village militia that constantly ran outside of the barriers. A few got hit by friendly fire. When possible, they were dragged inside the Chantry to be healed by Wynne. Alistair had tried to get Isabeaux to go into the Chantry as well, but she was adamant about staying outside, beside him. They fought together as if they’d been born doing it. The others had begun to find the groove of fighting within a group and beside a partner. Injuries went down as Isabeaux and her companions plugged up the exits of the barricades and forced the militia to use their ranged weapons as they were meant, firing over their heads as magic and sword destroyed those closest. Underneath it all, Isabeaux felt a malignant presence, manipulating the dead warriors and choking the militia with fear. It felt familiar and yet foreign. The mage who had orchestrated this had to be quite strong, and in league with a demon.

With the sun rising above the hills, all Isabeaux wanted was a bath. Bevin’s sister offered her home for Morrigan and Isabeaux to bathe and change in peace. The village women carried in fresh water and tin tubs. A few even brought clean clothing, but Isabeaux preferred to use magic to clean her and Morrigan’s clothes. Morrigan heated the water with her magic and the two of them had a long soak, scrubbing their skin until it shone. They did the same for their hair, trying to get rid of the smell and stickiness. When they were done, they dragged the tubs out and dumped the filthy water onto the ground. They heard yelling and splashing and looked around the corner to see the men bathing in the lake. Isabeaux blushed hotly, but Morrigan was happy to watch the horseplay from their concealed place. When Alistair started to make his way out of the water, Isabeaux pulled on Morrigan’s arm and led her away. 

Villager’s pressed hot drinks and food into their hands, thanking the women all the while. Isabeaux found a low bench, removed her heavy leather gauntlets and broke her fast. Two bites in and Bann Teagan was sitting next to her. “There will be a small public celebration to acknowledge all that you have done for Redcliffe, but I wanted to extend my thanks to you privately.” He took her hand, and kissed the back of it.

“My lord, you should be thanking Alistair. He is the reason we came here, not I.” She smiled sweetly but her words were filled with venom. She’d heard the stories of Alistair growing up here. There had been so much sadness and loneliness in Alistair’s life, and this man next to her, with his charming words, had been a part of it. She pulled her hand firmly but gently from his grip.

“You are right my lady, and if he would allow it, I would. However, it was Alistair’s wish that I acknowledge you and not him. Ask him if you like. I can see why he cares for you. Loyalty is a hard commodity to come by. I wish we could have met under different circumstances.” Bann Teagan leaned in and kissed her cheek. 

“Ahem! I believe you have taken my seat.” Alistair’s voice was light. Isabeaux grinned and stood up. “No, not you my lady. Uncle. Don’t you have a small celebration to get going?” Teagan laughed and got up. 

“You have fifteen minutes. We have a lot to do today.” Bidding them both farewell, he moved into the crowd. 

They ate in silence, trying to finish before their time limit was up. When their plates and cups were both empty, village women swept them away leaving the two Wardens sitting at the edge of chaos. Alistair reached over and tangled his fingers with hers. She smiled, blushed and looked down at their joined hands. It all seemed so natural with him, to care for him so. Alistair’s free hand reached over and played gently with the strands of hair that had fallen free of her habitual bun. She leaned into his hand slightly, a dreamy smile on her face.

“What are you thinking about, Isabeaux?” Alistair’s voice was low and rough. She blushed and said nothing. “Come on, tell me.”

“I… I was thinking about… um… you.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. When he pulled back her eyes were locked on his and wide with surprise. He smiled at her reaction.

“I’ve been thinking about you too.” He looked up at the people gathering. Only Teagan was looking at them. When he saw that Alistair was looking at him, he waved them up. “We have work to do. Come on, it’s time to be a hero.” He pulled her up off the bench and led her to the front of the Chantry where Sten and Zevran had been dragged up there as well. 

"Dawn arrives my friends and we all live!” Bann Teagan’s voice was clear and rich, rising over the cheers of the villagers. The ceremony was fairly short. Teagan complimented all of Isabeaux’s companions and especially Isabeaux. Teagan handed her a helm that dated back to his great-uncle. She smiled and accepted the helm gratefully. The Revered Mother then said a prayer for all of the men and women who fell in the defense of Redcliffe, although none had fallen in the last battle. She and her companions bowed their heads whether or not they believed in the words being said, if only to show respect for the fallen.

When the prayer was over, Teagan stated his intention to get into the Castle with the assistance of Isabeaux and the others. The villagers cheered them all and then cleared a path for them to go up the road to the Castle. Malevolent energy reached out from the Castle and caressed Isabeaux’s face. She shuddered and her knees buckled slightly. Alistair put his arm around her shoulders.

“Are you alright?” He whispered in her ear. She nodded and smiled up at him. He looked concerned but let her move ahead of her when she wanted to. 

When they had reached the windmill, Teagan stopped and looked at the assembled group. 

“Odd how quiet the castle looks from here. You would think there was nobody inside at all.” Teagan’s voice was hushed and sad, so different from the suave and rakish noble Isabeaux had met. “But, I shouldn’t delay things further. I had a plan… to enter the castle after the village was secure. There is a secret passage here, in the mill, accessible only to my family.” 

“Why didn’t you mention this to us before?” Isabeaux thought she might know, but wanted to hear it all the same.

“I knew that you would choose to enter the castle instead of staying in the village… and we needed warriors. I’m sorry if I- - Maker’s breath!”

He had been steadily walking toward Isabeaux when something behind her caught his attention.

An older woman came running up the road toward Teagan. She stank of the dark magic and Isabeaux felt the small hairs on the back of her neck raise. 

“Tea-Gan! Oh, thank the Maker you yet live!” Her voice immediately rubbed Isabeaux the wrong way. “I do not have much time to explain. I slipped away from the castle as soon as I saw the battle was over, and I must return quickly. And I… need you to return with me Teagan. Alone.” 

Isabeaux was used to people not noticing her, but there was something about this woman, beyond the stink of magic clinging to her. Isabeaux looked deeper, but the woman wasn’t a mage.

“I am afraid we will need more of an explanation that that.” Isabeaux used the same voice she used when one of the newest apprentices was caught in a lie. 

“What? I… who is this woman, Teagan?” The woman looked at Isabeaux as if she smelled something horrible. Isabeaux just raised her eyebrow and didn’t rise to the bait. 

“You remember me Lady Isolde?” Alistair’s voice sounded resigned and the sneering face shifted from Isabeaux to Alistair. Anger shot up Isabeaux’s spine and her palm itched to slap the Lady Isolde. 

“Alistair, of all the… why are you here.” Isolde all but spat the words out. Isabeaux’s eyes narrowed and it took one of her companions grabbing her arm to keep her from lunging at the horrid woman. The name Isolde was one that Alistair had mentioned once or twice, and never in connection with a happy memory. Isabeaux remembered all of the stories that Alistair had told her, of being sent to sleep in the stables, being locked in a closet and being sent from his home to become a Templar. 

“They are Grey Wardens, Isolde. I owe them my life.” Teagan’s voice warmed.

“Pardon me, I… I would exchange pleasantries, but… considering the circumstances…” Isolde’s voice was even chillier, but Isabeaux couldn’t tell if the change in tone was because they helped the village first, or Teagan’s reaction to the group.

“Please, Lady Isolde… we had no idea anyone was even alive within the castle. We must have some answers!” Alistair’s voice pleaded with her. Isabeaux was about ready to walk away. Not only was this woman insulting and evasive, Alistair and Teagan were pandering to her. She shifted to do just that, but Alistair took her hand and kept her near. Trying to push past her anger at the woman to think properly, Isabeaux opened herself up even more to her power and tried to identify the source of the power that clung to Isolde. 

“I know you need more of an explanation, but I… don’t know what is safe to tell. Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle. The dead waken and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, but still it continues. And I think… Connor is going mad. We have survived but he won’t flee the castle. He has seen so much death. You must help him, Teagan! You are his uncle. You could reason with him. I do not know what else to do!” Isolde had stepped closer to the Bann and was hanging on his arm, all but sobbing. Still, Isabeaux felt like Isolde was hiding something.

“Please, tell me about this mage you mentioned.” Isabeaux affected a small and quiet voice, hoping that Isolde would open more up more to a subservient elf than a Warden. 

“He is an… infiltrator, I think - - one of the castle staff. We discovered he was poisoning my husband. That is why Eamon fell ill.” Isolde was telling a partial truth, but was hiding something important. Isabeaux tried to sense the mages magic on Isolde, but no mage she knew was that powerful. What she felt was a demon’s touch. 

“Eamon was poisoned?” Teagan was astonished, but having talked to Berwick, Isabeaux merely nodded.

“He claims an agent of Teyrn Loghain’s hired him. He may by lying however, I cannot say.” The woman might have been telling the truth about the mage but as she talked more about what was going on in the castle, Isabeaux sensed more half truths, she knew what was going on and causing all the problems. Now, Isolde wanted Teagan to go back to the castle with her… alone? Why? When it was suggested that someone, anyone accompany the Bann, she became incensed. Deciding that none of Isabeaux’s companions were on her side, Isolde turned her entire attention toward Teagan. If the woman was hoping that the others would fade away, she would be sorely disappointed. Isabeaux smiled wickedly.

“Why do I get the nasty feeling you aren’t telling us everything?” Isabeaux was tired of playing the simpering elf. 

“I… I beg your pardon! That is a rather impertinent accusation!” Isolde sputtered.

“Oh? Impertinent for an elf? Or because it’s true?” Isabeaux was so tired of playing games. 

“No! I did not mean… that is to say, I… please, stop this! An evil I cannot fathom holds my son and husband hostage! I came for help! What more do you want from me? Teagan! I do not have much time! What if it thinks I am betraying it? It could kill Connor! Please, come back with me… must I beg?”

Isabeaux got some of her answers. Whatever is going on might be magical in nature, but it wasn’t a mage. It might be an abomination, but it was most certainly caused by a demon. Bann Teagan had decided to accompany Isolde back to the castle. Isolde, was visibly relieved and welcomed the chance to get away from Isabeaux and Alistair. Teagan asked Isolde to wait for him by the bridge while he spoke to “the others.” 

Once the woman had left, Isabeaux turned toward Teagan, hoping that she could change his mind. Teagan was adamant though, he needed to help Isolde and his brother. Teagan handed his signet ring to Isabeaux, his hand lingering on hers. 

“It’s for the best. I would prefer to go inside with you, but I have no choice in the matter. Ser Perth and his men can watch for danger at the castle entrance. If you can open the gates from within, they can move in and help you. I don’t think there’s anyone else who can help you. If you choose not to go, then it’s up to me to do what I can. Whatever you do, Eamon is the priority here. If you have to just get him out of there. Isolde, me and anyone else… we’re expendable.” He’d gotten closer as he spoke, his voice lowering and becoming more seductive.

“I don’t believe that my lord. We will rescue you all, I promise.” Her voice had softened but she backed up toward Alistair. 

“You are a good woman. The Maker smiled on me when He sent you to Redcliffe.” Teagan took her hand and kissed it gently. “I can delay no longer; allow me to bid you farewell… and good luck.”

Teagan took advantage of the fact she was backed up against Alistair and kissed Isabeaux lightly on the lips. Before Alistair could react, he stood up and a challenge glinted in eyes. Isabeaux reached back clutching Alistair’s hand. She could feel the man behind her chuckling. As Teagan walked away, she felt Alistair run his hand down her arm. 

Isabeaux would prefer to infiltrate the castle by herself, but knew that Alistair would insist on going with her. Now, she just had to decide if anyone else was going, or if they should join Ser Perth at the castle gates.


	27. In the Dungeons

Everyone wanted in on the dungeon crawl, but Isabeaux managed to dissuade everyone but Alistair. After sending everyone to wait for them at the castle gates, Alistair and Isabeaux entered the windmill. She started to look for the secret door, but was stopped by Alistair.

“Thank you.” His voice was soft and she trembled with want. 

“For what? I haven’t done anything.” She turned and went back to searching for the door, hoping that she could stay focused on getting into the castle. 

“For helping with all of this. I know that Isolde can be… difficult. You handled the situation beautifully. I believe that Teagan has developed feelings for you.” He had turned away from her and started helping her. She snorted disbelief. “He kissed you.”

“Certainly, in front of everyone… in front of you. Even as my back was pressed against you. No, at best he was trying to keep up his roguish appearance. At worst, he was doing it to irritate you… or me… or both.” She huffed her irritation at the memory of Teagan’s kiss. Something had to be wrong with her if she didn’t enjoy the attentions of a handsome man. She brushed some hay away from a wooden frame on the floor and tugged Alistair’s arm to show she found it. 

“Isabeaux? Did you… did you enjoy it?” He sounded uncertain and she looked up into his face with irritation. When she saw the little lost look in his eyes, she took pity on him. Leaving the door alone for a minute, she encircled her arms around his neck and pressed her lips gently against his. She took her time kissing Alistair, rubbing her lips against his, nipping at the corners of his mouth. He moaned and pulled her tight to him. “The joys of traveling alone.” His smile had returned when they finally broke apart. “Hmmm… we should, um… get back to what we were doing eh?”

She laughed and used Teagan’s signet ring to open the door. Faced with the darkness ahead of her, she looked back at Alistair.

“Did you know about this passageway?” She wondered if he’d ever had cause to use it.

“No. I hid in the dungeons once or twice. But I never went this far.” He moved past her and into the darkness. She could hear his gloves scraping against the stone as he looked for a torch or something to light their way. She conjured a small ball of light and sent it into the dark corridor. “It’s handy having a mage around. Come on. Let’s get going.” He reached back and offered his hand to support her as she walked down the stairs. When her feet were flat on the floor, he let go.

They’d walked a way in silence when Alistair broke it with an odd question. “Why did you leave the Circle?” 

She was silent for a bit, mulling his question over in her head. 

“I trusted the wrong person and I thought what I was doing was best for the Circle. It’s a long story.” She didn’t look up as he talked and pulled into herself as she felt guilty for what she’d done. “A friend of mine in the Circle wanted my help. They were going to make him tranquil. He’d… he’d fallen for a Chantry initiate, which is against the rules. I… I went to the First Enchanter to plead with him to keep Jowan from being turned. It turned out that there was a rumor that Jowan was a blood mage. The First Enchanter asked me to help them with their plan to escape, so that they could be caught. He’d convinced me that it was the best solution for the whole circle.” 

She fell silent then. The guilt had been building since leaving and she choked back the rest. She couldn’t get beyond how she’d done as Irving asked and watched a friend turn on his family. How to explain that horrible, hateful decision to someone as good as Alistair? He couldn’t understand. 

Alistair walked over to her and held her tight. He murmured words of comfort in her ear even as she struggled to get away from him. 

“Tell me the rest.” 

“We went into the basement, into the phylactery chamber and I helped him smash his phylactery. Then we went back up to the first floor. The Templars and the First Enchanter were waiting for us. Jowan used magic to get away, leaving the woman he loved behind. It was her choice. I am sure Jowan would have taken her along if he could. When he was gone, there was just me. I’d helped him destroy his phylactery, I’d helped him escape. It didn’t matter that the First Enchanter knew of it, the onus was on me. Duncan took me away that night. If I hadn’t gone… maybe the Circle would have been okay.”

“If you hadn’t left with Duncan, I never would have met you.” He lifted her chin and looked in her eyes. He kissed her softly. “It isn’t your fault.”

She let him kiss her, but she couldn’t kiss him back, not yet. Sensing her withdrawal, he let her step back. She continued down the hall, hoping that the familiar feel of magic wasn’t what she thought it was. Isabeaux wanted to be wrong. If she wasn’t, then Isabeaux would have the poisoning of the Arl on her head as well.

The tunnel dead ended at a large, iron-banded, wooden door. She and Alistair had to push it to get it to open. About halfway down the hall, beyond the door, were more undead monsters trying to reach something in a cell. Isabeaux could hear a voice calling for help and felt guilt swamp her. ‘Jowan. How wonderful.’ She blasted the monsters with fire, trying hard not to hit Alistair in the process. He sprinted down the corridor, his sword gleaming in the dim light. The monsters were cut down quickly. 

“Hello? Is there someone out there? Who is it? “ Jowan’s voice carried out of the cell and into the hall. “By all that’s holy… you! I can’t believe it… and here I thought this couldn’t get any worse. Brilliant. Go on, have a go at me, if that’s what you want. Gloat away.” The dark haired mage’s face was a mask of hatred.

“I’m not here to gloat. I wouldn’t ever wish this on someone. Seeing you like this pains me.” Her voice was filled with the pain of knowing that even though she had given up her life in the circle helping him to run, he’d gone and hurt even more people.

“Oh, thank you for your tired old platitudes! Whatever would I do without your sympathetic words to carry me through the long, cold nights?” He attacked her verbally over and again. She stood there and stared at the ground, defeated and guilty.

“I’m sorry, Jowan.” Her voice was small. Alistair reached out to touch her arm in reassurance but she shrugged him off. Jowan kept up his verbal attack.

“You think that makes if better? You expect this to be easy, like your whole life has been easy! Apologize and suddenly we’re friends again? I’ve been running since I last saw you. I’ve slept in ditches, in rotten logs, in the rain… I’ve gone hungry for weeks…

“I was lost… utterly alone. You expect me to forget this happened.” 

She listened to him blame her, over and again. Inside, she heard his voice complaining, how everything had been easy for her. It was a complaint that he’d been doing since she’d been at the tower. It was always someone else’s fault, never his. All the anger and resentment she’d been harboring burst through.

“Why is this my fault? Since the tower, I have been hunted, attacked by creatures far more monstrous than the undead, watched my comrades be massacred and almost died more than once. No one held a blade to your throat waiting for you to become an abomination. You did that all by yourself. You are a blood mage, Jowan. No one made you do it. I helped you escape and instead of giving up magic like you said you were going to, you come here and hurt more people. That is what I’m guilty of, I helped you escape and now all the innocents you have hurt are on my head. Thank you for that.” 

“I made a mistake all right? I admit it. I dabbled. And I’ve been paying for it ever since, and I’m so tired.” He sighed, pitifully. He eyed Alistair warily and saw how he looked at Isabeaux. She could see him trying another tactic and wished heartily that Alistair wouldn’t be there to see the manipulation. “Before I say anything else, I need to ask you a question. You can do whatever you feel you need to afterward, but I need to know… 

“What became of Lily? They didn’t hurt her, did they? The thought that she might have paid for my crime…”

Isabeaux wanted to tell him that Lily had walked away without another thought for him. It was the truth, but Jowan had never been one to want the truth.

“You should have known better, Jowan.” 

“You’re right. I should have. But, please… just tell me if she’s all right.”

“She’s fine, Jowan. Don’t worry about her.” Isabeaux chose the comforting lie over the truth. Jowan’s relief was palpable. 

“Oh, thank… thank the Maker. For small mercies, at least. And thank you for telling me. It’s good to know I haven’t ruined everything I’ve touched. So, here we are again, the two of us. What happens now?” Isabeaux asked him to explain how he ended up in the Arl’s dungeons being attacked by the undead. It came out that Teyrn Loghain had put him in touch with Arlessa Isolde, when in fact he was sent to poison the Arl. Isabeaux’s disappointment in Jowan was palpable. 

“I was told that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden, that if I dealt with him, Loghain would settle matters with the Circle. All I wanted was to be able to return. But he abandoned me here, didn’t he? Everything has fallen apart. I never thought it would end like this! Maker, I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve disappointed so many people. I wish… I wish I could go back and fix it. I just want to make everything right again.” Jowan had reverted back to whining at her. She rolled her eyes and tried to get him to focus on the problem.

“So. The Teyrn hired you specifically to poison Arl Eamon? Why you?”

“Connor had started to show… signs. Lady Isolde was terrified that the Circle of Magi would take him away for training.” 

“Connor? A mage? I can’t believe it!” Alistair was shocked that the strict Lady Isolde would have done such a thing. Isabeaux could, especially if Connor turned out to be an only child.

“She sought an apostate, a mage outside the Circle, to teach her son in secret so he could learn to hide his talent. Her husband had no idea.”

“Why would Isolde be frightened of her son becoming a mage. If he showed signs, you would think that the fear of demons possessing the boy would have frightened her more.” Isabeaux knew that children newly come into their power were a tempting target for demons looking for a way into this world. Children hadn’t yet learned how to keep their minds and souls safe. It was one of the many reasons for the Circle, like it or not.

“Because he would be taken away. Forever. A mage cannot inherit a title, even the son of a powerful arl. She’s also a pious woman. Her son having magic was humiliating.” Jowan showed no love for the woman who thought so little of mages. His time under her supervision must have rankled, for both. 

“So, are you sure Arl Eamon had no idea of his son’s abilities?” Isabeaux had a hard time believing that a man like the Arl wouldn’t know what went on under his roof.

“No, she was adamant that he never find out. She said that he’d do the ‘right thing’, even if it meant losing their son. And that infuriated her.” Jowan chose to be honest, knowing that if he lied, she might leave him in the cell.

“Exactly how much magic have you taught Connor?”

“Some, but he’s still very young. He can barely cast a minor spell… never mind something more powerful. At least, not intentionally. I have thought about it, and it’s possible that Connor could have inadvertently done something to tear open the Veil. With the Veil to the Fade torn, spirits and demons could kill and create those walking corpses.” Jowan didn’t seem to think that he was at fault here. As usual. Isabeaux nodded her understanding. “The arl’s a decent man. I wondered how he could possibly be the threat that Loghain said he was, but I did it anyway. I’m such a fool” 

Isabeaux held her tongue and kept from pointing out that he admitted he was a fool, and that it was the only thing that he had said that was the absolute truth. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m just sick of running away and hiding from what I’ve done. I’m going to try and fix it, any way I can. We were friends once. I know I don’t deserve to call you that, after what I did… if it ever meant anything, please… help me fix this. I know, I betrayed you. And Lily. I’m sorry, so very sorry. Please, I’m begging you! Won’t you help me try and do one thing right in my life?”

“So, say I let you out to ‘help make things right’. After that, what happens?”

“After I’d try to save anyone still up there, there must be something I could do. And afterwards? I assume I’ll be arrested. Or executed. Or… whatever people like me get. A part of me knew, right from the beginning, that I’d have to face the consequences one day. I knew I’d be caught, eventually. I’m done with running and hiding. I need to account for what I’ve done.” 

Isabeaux got close to the gate and started fiddling with the lock. She worked on it for about ten minutes, before the lock gave way. “This is your last chance to do what’s right. Help as you can. Just… just don’t make things worse.” 

Jowan promised and slipped off down another corridor. Alistair was unhappy with her decision and it was painted all over her face. 

“He’s your friend. I suppose you felt that you needed to do it.” Alistair’s voice was filled with disappointment.

“I have to give him one more chance to do what is right, just as I always hope to do. If I’m wrong, then I’ll just have more innocents on my conscience.” Isabeaux felt tired and old.

“What he does is not your responsibility. I just hope he can help, somehow. You are sure, though, right Isabeaux?”

“As sure as I can be.” The last was a sigh. Alistair shook his head and started out of the dungeons. They had a way to go until they could reach the main hall of the castle. They worked together, destroying undead and fighting through possessed creatures. By the time they’d fought through the rooms of monsters and opened the gate to the knights and their companions, she was heart sore and weary. She’d caught glimpses of Jowan fighting similar battles in other rooms. He was acting true to his word, at least for now. Isabeaux accepted it as a small victory. Everyone was prepared to enter the castle, but no one was ready for what was waiting for them inside.


	28. Sacrificial Lamb

Isabeaux and Alistair gathered the rest of their companions and Ser Perth’s knights at the castle gates, the wardens taking the lead. They entered the main doors with little resistance and were surprised to see Teagan dancing like a jester to a little boy’s delight. Wynne made her way up to Isabeaux.

“Do you feel that? The boy… isn’t…”

Isabeaux understood exactly what Wynne couldn’t say out loud. The boy was a mere step away from becoming an abomination like in the tower. He wasn’t there yet, but very close. It wasn’t long before the object of their scrutiny noticed them. Isabeaux didn’t want to hurt Teagan, she had promised him to save them all. As long as he was controlled, she couldn’t do anything to help him. 

“So these are our visitors? The one’s you told me about, Mother?” The boy’s voice didn’t belong to him. It sounded like ten voices pouring out of him. Isabeaux shared a look with Wynne, this was bad.

“Y-yes, Connor.” Isolde sounded defeated and Isabeaux wondered if she too were under the creature’s control. 

“And this is the one who defeated my soldiers? The ones who defeated my soldiers? The ones I sent to reclaim my village? And now it’s staring at me! What is it, Mother? I can’t see it well enough.” The creature’s voice dripped contempt. Isabeaux stepped forward in an obvious gesture of defiance. She would be the shield for her companions, for the knights, for Teagan… even for Isolde, if necessary. Above all, she needed to be the focus of the creature’s rage when it unleashed.

“This is an elf, Connor. You… you’ve seen elves before. We have them here in the castle…” Isolde was crying. 

“Oh, I remember! I had their ears cut off and fed to the dogs! The dogs chewed for hours! Shall I send it to the kennels, Mother?” It laughed with glee and clapped its hands. Isabeaux narrowed her eyes. ‘Naughty boy. What did you do?’

“C-Connor, I beg you, don’t hurt anyone!” Isolde’s voice took on a shriller tone. The creature shuddered and seemed to be thrown from the boy’s body. Isabeaux risked a look back at Wynne who was also trying to chase down the source of the power. Morrigan and some of the others had been left outside, in case they couldn’t contain it in here. Isabeaux wanted to keep damage to a minimum and the village had suffered enough.

“M-mother? What… what’s happening? Where am I?” The boy was confused, it was a good sign. If they could keep him free of the demon’s control, they could possibly help everyone without bloodshed.

“Oh, thank the Maker! Connor! Connor can you hear me?” Isolde reached for her son, but it was already too late.

“Get away from me, fool woman! You are beginning to bore me.” The boy smacked Isolde across the face, knocking her down. Ser Perth and his knights, drew their weapons feeling the threat but unaware of its source. Isabeaux glanced at Alistair and then nodded to the knights. They had to sheathe their swords, for now; otherwise no one was walking out of that room.

“Maker’s breath! What has happened here?” Ser Perth was shocked, not only at Connor’s action, but at the other’s inactions.

“Grey Warden, please don’t hurt my son. He’s not responsible for what he does.” Isolde pleaded from the floor. 

“You’ve been protecting him the entire time? He is the evil that you have been hiding?” Isabeaux was angry, but she tried to keep a leash on it. Anger would help no one. She just couldn’t believe that this fool woman, who hated mages and magic would allow this to go on.

“Connor didn’t mean to do this! It was that, mage, the one who poisoned Eamon… he, he started all this. He summoned this demon! Connor was just trying to help his father!” Isolde didn’t even acknowledge her part in all of this. She was as bad as Jowan. Isabeaux rolled her eyes. This entire castle was filled with people who refused to take responsibility. She didn’t have much time to wonder about it all though. The demon was getting stronger, if they could just figure out what kind it was and how it was working through the boy; they had a chance to fix it. Before she could give it much thought, or look at Wynne again to gauge her reactions, the creature was addressing her again.

“Let’s keep things civil. This woman will have the audience she seeks. Tell us, woman… what have you come here for?” The creature knew exactly why she was here, and how many of its minions she’d killed. Long years of subservient behavior toward humans made a seamless shift from proud warden to cowed elf seamless. Her head bowed, face to the ground, she looked up at the creature through lowered lashes.

“I came to help, if I could.” Isabeaux’s voice was steady but gave the impression of servitude.

“To help me? To help Father? To help yourself? Which?” The energy of the demon pulsed as it filled the room.

“To help the arl, of course.” 

“So, you’re a concerned well-wisher. Why didn’t you say that in the first place? All this sneaking around and killing is so unnecessary! But Father is so very ill. We really shouldn’t disturb him. Isn’t that right, Mother?” The creature wanted a fight. It wanted Isabeaux to kill Teagan and the guards, and possibly Isolde. Isabeaux had only seconds. Invisible hands stroked her hair lovingly and she shuddered.

“I… I don’t think…” Isolde was given a glimpse to what was going to happen. She couldn’t stop any of it, no that Isabeaux believed she would have anyway. Her precious Connor. She threw away Alistair for this child. She had thrown away her husband. Isabeaux couldn’t fathom that kind of selfishness.

“Of course you don’t. Ever since you sent the knights away, you do nothing by deprive me of my fun. Frankly, it’s getting dull. I crave excitement! And action! This woman spoiled my sport by saving that stupid village, and now she’ll repay me!” The demon’s words were the only warning she got. Isabeaux incapacitated Teagan first, knocking him out and hoping that it would be enough to save him. The knights and the guards clashed, but Isabeaux was drawn deeper into the castle chasing after the Connor demon. She and her companions met wave after wave of the possessed and undead. When they could, they would put the possessed to sleep, but many still died at their hands. All of them moved through the first two floors of the castle, eliminating the last of Connor’s forces before going downstairs to assess the damage. Isabeaux saw one of the maids coming to. The woman had been possessed and seemed to be free of it as she woke up. Isabeaux looked around, it had to be Arl Eamon’s study. On the corner of his desk, she saw an amulet of Andraste. It was unlike any she had seen before, and knew, as she touched it, that it belonged to Alistair. She slipped it off the desk and put it in her pouch, vowing to give it to him as soon as she reasonably could. 

The others had come back from helping the survivors of the possession and everyone walked back to the front room together. Teagan was still unconscious on the floor and Isabeaux feared lasting damage. She ran to him and he revived in her arms. When the bann looked up into Isabeaux’s face, she smiled down at him. 

“I promised to keep you safe, didn’t I?” The words were whispered with a smile.

“That you did, my lady. You are a wonder. Are you sure, you won’t consider me as a mate?” She shook her head at his words and then helped him stand. As soon as she was sure he was all right, Isolde draped herself on Teagan.

“Teagan! Teagan, are you all right? Blessed Andraste! I would never have forgiven myself had you died, not after I brought you here. What a fool I am! Please! Connor’s not responsible for this! There must be some way we can save him. “ Isolde was sobbing into his shoulder. 

“You knew about this all along.” Isabeaux’s words were loud enough to be heard by all. The accusation sharp, especially in the face of so many dead.

“I… yes. I didn’t tell you because I believed we could help him. I still do.” Isolde’s voice quavered.

“I am sorry, my lady, but Connor has become an abomination. He’s no longer your son.” Jowan’s voice was soft but sure as he entered the room; Morrigan and Roland on his heels. All three of them battered and bruised. Their battles had been just as difficult. Isolde whirled toward Jowan and her face became a mask of hate.

“You! You did this to Connor!” Her voice was shrill. Isabeaux rolled her eyes at the theatrics. She waited for Jowan to deny any responsibility.

“I didn’t summon any demon, I told you! Please, if you’ll let me help…” Jowan’s words were surprising. He didn’t deny his own actions, and seemed sincere in his offer.

“Help?! You betrayed me! I brought you here to help my son and in return you poisoned my husband!” Isabeaux’s hand itched to smack the arlessa as she shrieked. 

“This is the mage you spoke of? Didn’t you say he was in the dungeon?” Bann Teagan’s voice was a welcome calm in the storm, angry but willing to listen.

“He was. I assumed the creatures had killed him by now. He must have been set free.” Isolde spat the words out, and then glared at Isabeaux accusingly.

“I thought he’d be useful, seeing as he helped start this. I stand by my decision.” Isabeaux went to stand next to Jowan, a subtle show of support.

Isolde went into a tirade about how Jowan betrayed her, poisoning her husband and allowing a demon to possess her son. It was all Jowan’s fault. Much like it was probably all Alistair’s fault before he went to be trained as a Templar. The arlessa was unrepentant about hiding Connor’s abilities only concerned with him being taken away. She didn’t care that there’d been secrets, only that she hadn’t gotten her way. As it stood now, the boy would have to be killed. It was an unpleasant thought, the boy himself was innocent. It wasn’t fair that the innocent be punished for the actions of those who should know better. As Isolde ran out of steam, Isabeaux picked up the conversation.

“Jowan, do you have any suggestion as to what we can do?”

His voice was unsteady as he spoke. Isabeaux was happy to note he didn’t want to kill the boy any more than she did. “The demon in Connor needs to be destroyed. Killing Connor is… the easiest way to do that certainly… But there is another way. A mage could confront the demon in the Fade, without hurting Connor himself.”

Wynne, Jowan and Isabeaux shared what they knew about demons and the Fade. Since Connor showed signs of not being directly possessed, they had a slim chance of going into the Fade and defeating the demon. All it did was give Isolde hope.

“You can enter the Fade, then? And kill the demon without hurting my boy?”

“No, but I can enable another mage to do so. It normally requires lyrium and several mages, but I have… blood magic.” Jowan was reluctant to speak so openly of his forbidden magic.

“Blood magic uses the life force of others as raw mana.” Isabeaux’s voice was devoid of emotion. Blood magic could be extremely powerful, but there was always a high price to pay. Jowan seemed surprised to hear that Isabeaux knew about the workings of blood magic. His voice was sad as he went on.

“Yes, that’s right. The ritual I know … It requires life energy… a lot of it. All of it, in fact.” Jowan’s eyes never left Isabeaux’s. It was as if he knew what she was thinking. He was already shaking his head no. 

“So, someone must die? Someone must be sacrificed?” Teagan sounded appalled.

“Yes, and then we send another mage into the Fade. I can’t enter because I’m doing the ritual. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not much of an option.”

“Is there no other method?” Isabeaux wanted an out, an immediate one if possible. She looked over her shoulder at Alistair. He was being torn apart by this. The only real family he knew would have to sacrifice one of its own. He met Isabeaux’s eyes. Fearful that he might figure out what she was thinking, she looked away.

“The power has to come from somewhere, and that means lyrium or blood. We don’t have the lyrium here and I am afraid of what a long delay may mean for Connor and the rest of us.” Jowan was worried and that meant little good was coming.

Isabeaux took a deep breath and spoke up before anyone else could. “All right. We’ll use my blood and send Wynne or Morrigan into the Fade. I’ll be the sacrifice, with my power, you should have more time to gain from it, and a better chance to save Connor.”

Everyone was up in arms, except for Isolde. Teagan ran up and took her hands, pleading with her to rethink her decision. Alistair and Wynne flatly refused to let it happen. The others were against it, and thought killing the child would be the easiest and quickest solution. 

“If she is willing, why shouldn’t we allow her to do this?” Isolde’s voice rang out. Angry that everyone had rushed stop to Isabeaux from doing this for her son. “She says she has the power to aid in lengthening the time necessary to help Connor. She wants to do it. Let her. She and that mage can help the people of Redcliffe, and Jowan can make up for what he has done!”

Morrigan let loose a string of curse words all aimed at Isolde, all the while pushing her way through the crowd until she stood in front of the arlessa. With one sweep of her hand, she smacked Isolde in the face and sent her flying to the floor. “Isabeaux is a better person than most I have met. You aren’t worthy of that kind of sacrifice from her. She has bled enough for Redcliffe.”

Isolde picked herself up and straightened her clothing. Finally, she spoke again. “Then let it be my blood. I will be the sacrifice.”

“What? Isolde, are you mad? Eamon would never allow this.” Bann Teagan was terrified that no matter what happened, someone was going to die.

“Either someone kills my son to destroy that thing inside him, or I give my live so my son can live. To me the answer is clear.”

“Enough innocents have died, I’m not going to stand around and let it happen again. There has to be another way.” Wynne and Jowan spoke of needing a great quantity of lyrium. Someone would have to go to the Circle tower. Isabeaux and Alistair would go. The others would stay and guard the castle and village. Jowan would help Bann Teagan control Connor or at least minimize the damage Connor could cause. No one looked at Isolde. Isabeaux and Alistair took the two swiftest horses from the stables and headed out immediately. They couldn’t delay, the longer they were gone, the more chance of mischief. The sun proclaimed it to be just past dawn.


	29. Soft in the Night

Isabeaux didn’t care how swift the horses were, they weren’t helping her outrun her guilt over Jowan. Now, they were headed back to the one place in Ferelden she didn’t want to go. Alistair’s horse match matched hers step for step. Eventually, with Redcliffe receding. He called out to let the horses slow down to a walk for a bit.

“No sense in running them to the ground for this. We should get there this evening.” He hollered it as he grabbed at her reins. It was obvious he wanted to talk, and just as obvious she didn’t. Her mind was churning, preparing for the off chance that the First Enchanter would or could not do anything to help. The Circle had lost most of its mages when Uldred attacked and they might not have the man power or the lyrium to send someone into the Fade. She wouldn’t let Alistair’s family suffer more than it had too. The horses slowed and the countryside was quiet. Both wardens were looking out for any sign of impending darkspawn attack, or bandit ambush. Isabeaux felt her pouch. It was fat with coin and would be able to pay for a meal or two as well as a couple of beds for the night, they wouldn’t have to sleep on the cold ground. She sighed, anticipating the pleasure.

“Why?” Alistair’s voice interrupted her fantasy of a warm bed. She knew what he was asking, but couldn’t think of a way to not answer it.

“Why what Alistair?”

“Why did you make the offer?” He wasn’t looking at her. He was either so angry at her he couldn’t do so, or he really was just interested in the surrounding landscape.

“It’s my fault it happened. Maybe not directly, but it’s still my fault. I helped Jowan. If he hadn’t escaped, then we wouldn’t have had this problem. I’d heard the rumors that he was a blood mage, and I chose to believe his lie instead. I wasn’t prepared for him truly being a blood mage.” 

“You might feel guilty, but there are others who are far more to blame than you. Jowan accepted the request from Loghain. Isolde wanted Connor taught in secret. This is no more your fault than mine. What is the real reason?” His voice pleaded with her.

“You.”

“Me? Me what?” 

“It’s your family, Alistair. I wouldn’t let them kill Connor. I don’t care if he is the one who made the deal, he is the real innocent. Isolde was just trying to protect her child, and that is a huge concession after the stories you told me about her. She couldn’t be bothered with you, but the one of her blood, so precious. If I didn’t know how badly it would hurt you, I’d have taken her up on the offer to sacrifice herself. The way it was going, either you or Teagan would have been next to volunteer and that would be out of the question. Ferelden needs you, as a warden, as a leader. They will follow you, even when they wouldn’t follow me. You constantly forget I have been doubly cursed as an elf and a mage. I can pass unseen through most of the social strata without even lifting a hand, but they look at me and…” She shook her head.

“Look at you and what?” Alistair’s horse was close to hers, his leg bumping hers as they rode.

“They look at me and while they may find me attractive for the short term, they might even dally with me, but they will not allow…” She couldn’t even say it.

“Who cares about them?” Alistair’s anger had turned from her to the faceless them. It was gratifying to hear but his voice meant little against the weight of the world. “You are a warden. Not an elf, not a mage… a warden. You are above ‘their’ petty decrees. You are just as needed for this blight. Haven’t I told you I can’t do this alone?”

“That’s the thing Alistair. You can. You are strong and brave and…” her voice was breaking. “If Eamon doesn’t wake up, you might be the best hope of putting Ferelden back together… as King. It is a possibility you cannot ignore. When and if that happens, I become a liability, as a partner and a friend. You need someone that everyone can support at your side.”

“Your willingness to sacrifice yourself for me, for my family means the world to me, but I’m still not going to let that happen. I can’t imagine you not being here or another warden being in your place. I need you, Isabeaux. You, and not someone else. They… those people you are so worried about… they can hang for all I care. We are in this together. Got it? No more talk of sacrificing, we have to believe that the First Enchanter is going to help us. He has to. You will see to that, I know it. I’m just along to see you stay out of trouble.” 

Alistair suggested stopping beside the road for a nap, but Isabeaux insisted on pushing on. They got to the Village of Lake Calenhad just before dusk. Isabeaux and Alistair hadn’t had more than a short nap in two days. Their business incomplete, they took the last room at the Spoiled Princess, with strict instructions to wake them as soon as the First Enchanter could see them. They sent off a note and then went upstairs, exhausted. Alistair took the floor like the gentleman he was. The summons woke them and hour later, far too soon for their liking. Groggy and punchy, they boarded Kester’s boat and made their way to the tower. 

The First Enchanter was waiting for them in the grand hall with the Knight Commander. Curious as to why Isabeaux would have returned so soon, Irving and Greagoir asked her up to Irving’s office. Worried that Alistair might influence what she said, they asked him to gather up the last of her personal items while they talked to her. Alistair looked to Isabeaux. She smiled tiredly and shrugged her shoulders. He asked the Knight Commander for a guide and allowed Isabeaux to be taken up the stairs, confident that if they thought to keep her, they had another thing coming. 

Irving’s office had been put to rights and he poured her some tea, suggesting she make herself comfortable. They chatted about inconsequential things until Knight Commander Greagoir walked in.

“So, my child, what brings you back to us?” Irving’s solicitous tone amused Isabeaux.

“There is a child in Redcliffe that needs your help. A demon is controlling him from the Fade and we lack the resources to banish the creature.” She didn’t want to mention Jowan, but she would if necessary. “All parties concerned would prefer to save the child if necessary. As it isn’t a direct possession, Wynne and I believe that going into the Fade to defeat it would accomplish our goals, and secure the noble faction to the warden’s cause. Will you be able to help us?”

“Of course. I will gather our strongest mages and what lyrium we have and set out tonight. Now, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Jowan is there. The arlessa hired him to teach her son magic. It appears that the child has some talent and unfortunately attracted a demon. He is trying to redeem himself and fix the situation. He just wants to come back, First Enchanter.” She looked pleadingly up at Greagoir too. The chances of him making it back alive were slim. He would be made tranquil at the very least. “He’s made mistakes but truly repents. Please, consider it.” 

“If he comes back, he will be made tranquil. You and he both know that, right? If the Templars don’t kill him outright.” Irving’s voice was stern.

“I don’t know whether he does or not. Society and the Chantry dictate that mages only get one chance to make a complete mess of their lives while everyone else can do so repeatedly. I do not condone the use of blood magic, but…” Isabeaux was angered by the revelation. Loghain has gone around and done horrible things but because he is human, male and not a mage, he probably wouldn’t get punished for it. Irving could see her thoughts.

“We only get one life child. We must live it as we see fit, and accept the consequences of our actions when they come. The Maker sees to it that we are rewarded or punished in time. Now, let’s see you off, before your fellow warden comes looking for you.” Irving stood and escorted her to the door, making his farewells there. He had a lot to plan if he were leaving that night. Greagoir escorted her down the stairs.

“I have something for you, warden.” Greagoir’s voice was gruff. Isabeaux looked up at the lined face of the Knight Commander and wondered what was weighing on his mind.

“Greagoir, I know my way through the tower. You don’t need to guide me.” She smiled as she spoke. She had no interest in being in the tower any longer than need be. He couldn’t work up a smile for her as he handed over a letter. She looked from the envelope to Greagoir’s face. “What is this?”

“It’s from Cullen. He’s… he’s leaving us and wanted you to have it. He’s not gone, yet, and …” Greagoir was losing a man that must be like a son to him. So many losses. She looked up at the Knight Commander and the pain was so strong in his face. Isabeaux took Greagoir’s hand and squeezed it lightly. 

“Thank you, Greagoir. I’ll leave quickly… quietly, so as not to hurt him more.” 

“Isabeaux? Thank you. You have grown into such a kind, compassionate woman.” Greagoir’s voice was gruff. She tried to chuckle, but she felt bruised.

“For a mage, you mean?”

“No. For a person. I am glad that you are fighting for us. You would be a terror to fight against.” The older man leaned down and kissed her cheek in a fatherly manner. They had reached the grand hall and Alistair was waiting. Alistair’s smile when he saw her eased Isabeaux’s pain. He held out a hand to her, calling her to his side. She tucked the letter into her pouch and looked back at Greagoir. Sorrow and joy fought for dominance. Isabeaux nodded at the older man, before joining Alistair.

“You left some… interesting things behind when you left.” Alistair hefted a small sack over his shoulder. “You may have to explain the use of some of them.” Isabeaux rolled her eyes and grinned, glad that this episode in the tower had been short. 

It was full dark when they got back to the inn. No longer tired, they ate and listened to the minstrel playing. Isabeaux related her conversation with Irving and then laughed as Alistair related stories from his days as a Templar recruit. He pulled a bottle of wine out from the pack he claimed was hers, but she knew she hadn’t had any wine in her things. It was against the rules for mages to drink in the circle. She narrowed her eyes and looked at it.

“Where did you get that?” Isabeaux whispered. He laughed and opened the bottle, pouring a generous amount into her cup.

“Bought it from the quartermaster at the tower.” He poured a generous amount in his cup and then saluted her before drinking it down. When he was done, a challenge was in his eyes. She lifted her cup and took a large swallow. It burned but she managed not to cough. Alistair kept filling her cup until she felt fuzzy and then was happy to finish off the bottle. He helped her up, which was a good thing, the floor had gone so far away. He threaded his arm about her waist and together they walked up the stairs. 

The room seemed so small when they returned to it. Isabeaux turned shy, thinking of sleeping in the same room with Alistair. Her foggy mind tried to help, she’d slept near him in the camp, and they’d slept in this same room earlier that day. She looked over her shoulder at Alistair, who was making a bed on the floor. The bag with her things in it, was near the wash basin. She walked over and opened it up carefully. She’d found a nightgown that one of her friends had made her. The fabric was thin, and covered little, but it wasn’t her armor and she was grateful for it. Her hands fumbled with the buckles on her armor but managed to loosen them. Her foggy mind reminded her that Alistair was in the room, so she turned her back to him, wishing for a screen of some sort. Quickly she shed her armor and donned the night shift. Biting her lip, she turned around and saw Alistair shedding his armor down to his breeks. Hot fire burned across her skin as she blushed. Quickly, she raced across the room and dove under the covers. Her eyes wouldn’t leave him alone though. They roved over his broad back and when he turned, she could almost feel the skin of his chest under her hands. Their eyes met for one brief second and then shied away. He lay down on his makeshift bed and she readied herself to blow out the candle.

“Alistair?”

“Yes.” She could hear him trying to get comfortable on the floor and she felt bad. 

“This bed is huge, and you already slept poorly on the floor.”

“Are you suggesting… sharing the… bed?” His voice cracked a little. “I don’t know.”

“Nothing will happen. We are capable of just sleeping, aren’t we?” She wasn’t sure that she just wanted to sleep, but if he wasn’t ready, she wasn’t going to push him. He moved slowly to the bed and under the covers. 

“Thanks, Isabeaux.” He turned his back to hers and then blew out the lights.

 

The nightmare struck hard. In her dream, Isabeaux was drowning in blood. Next to her lay the lifeless torn form of Alistair. All around her, people were dying or dead. She looked at her hands and they had turned to claws. High above was the dragon, singing to her, praising her. When Isabeaux tried to turn from it, the dragon shrieked and fell on top of her. She could feel the razor sharp talons tear her skin. She tried to scream but it was muffled.

“Isabeaux! It’s alright. I’m here.” She was being held tight to Alistair’s chest when she jerked awake from the terror. He was stroking her hair gently, placing soft kisses against the top of her head. They were entangled in sheets, in each other. The broad strap of her shift had fallen off her shoulder, baring much of her breast. Her body shook with fear, even as she came more fully awake. He was so blessedly warm against her. Still murmuring softly to her, he rubbed her back gently, trying to soothe her fears. The song went on, praising her need even as it punished.

Her body tightened with want. Isabeaux knew that she should move away, but her body wouldn’t listen. The seductive song of the archdemon was still coursing through her, pushing her need for him closer to the surface. She shifted her head so that she could kiss him. Her mouth pressed against his chest, tentatively at first. Soon, though, the need was so strong, they were hot, open mouthed kisses. Something changed in him too. The gentle caresses against her back stilled as his fingers spread out, heating her thinly clad body. His hands slid down and cupped her bottom, pulling her tightly against him. Her thigh snaked over his hip as she drew him closer to her heat. Instinctively they shifted positions. Alistair rolled her beneath him, his hands sliding along her sides to cup and lift her breasts. Their mouths mated greedily in passing as he slid down her body. The hard planes of his chest abraded the sensitive skin of her breasts. She dug her fingers in his hair as he scraped his teeth along the skin bared by the fallen strap. They moaned and writhed, kissing, tasting, wanting and tempting. The ache deep within her caused her to sob, wanting release. His head pulled up sharply, as if doused with cold water. She cried out as he pulled away. 

“Isabeaux. We… not…” His breathing was ragged, but she understood. The desire was mutual, but it wasn’t time yet. This need wasn’t theirs, it had something to do with the dream. Deep in the back of her mind she could hear its scream of anger. Alistair’s words worked to cool the ardor between them and denied the demon. He shifted, readying himself to go back to the floor.

“No. Don’t. Please Alistair. Stay with me.” Without seeing if he responded, she turned over, presenting her back to him. He understood, just like Ostagar. He settled her against him, against his hardness, wrapping her in his arms. Gently he kissed her shoulder and then settled as much as he could. Unwilling to let him leave her just yet, she suffered in the dark. He evened out his breathing, but she knew that he suffered as well. She pretended to sleep, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he murmured soft words in her ear, making dark promises for the nights to come.


	30. Thou Shall Not Covet

They rode back slower than they left. The urgency to return to Redcliffe was still there, but with the arrival of Irving and the other mages, they knew they didn’t have to punish the horses to return. Isabeaux promised herself that she would never drink so much again. Her head hurt and she was horribly embarrassed over how she had thrown herself at Alistair in the night.

“What’s on your mind?” His voice felt like velvet sliding over her skin. She bit her lip and tried not to blush.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry for what?” Alistair was looking at her with those eyes and she felt need puddle in her middle.

“Throwing myself at you last night.” Isabeaux’s voice was small. She was embarrassed about it sure, but she wasn’t sorry for anything that happened. Alistair chuckled. 

“There was mutual throwing, if I remember. It’s just…” While he’d started off with a smile, it faded as something else clouded his thoughts.

“Just what?” Isabeaux heartily wished that they had rented a cart for the return trip; the horse’s gait was making it difficult to think without pain. He grimaced and shook his head. She understood; there were no words for it. It wasn’t yet time. She wasn’t sure if there would be a time, but she could wait, for him. Her pouch bounced against her thigh, reminding her of the amulet she’d found. She pulled it out and handed it to him, leaning far over her horse’s neck.

“What’s this?” Alistair looked at the silver disk. In the sunlight, she could clearly see the marks where it had been fractured and repaired. “Is this… my mother’s amulet? It’s not broken. Where did you find it?” Awe fought with impatience. Isabeaux smiled slightly before answering.

“I found it in the arl’s study, when I was helping a maid. It is yours isn’t it? I’ve never seen one like that before.”

“I think so, yes. But… why would he have kept it, fixed it?” All of the hurt that Alistair had felt as a child welled up in his eyes, and just as quickly cleared thinking of the man who was essentially his father.

“Perhaps you mean more to him than you think. At any rate, it was your mother’s and I’m sure he was going to give it back to you when he could.” She clucked her tongue and her horse moved ahead of his. He was quick to catch up though.

“You remembered me talking about this? I… I don’t know what to say. I’m used to people not listening when I go on and on about things.”

“I’m sorry, were you talking?” She grinned at him, sharing the joke. “Of course I listened. You are very… special… to me. I thought you knew.” She pulled her eyes away from his, and focused on the road. They would have to pick up the pace if they were going to arrive in Redcliffe tonight. She wasn’t sure that she could survive another night alone with him, without pushing him for more. She swallowed convulsively, avoiding his eye. They rode in silence for a while. Occasionally she could feel his gaze on her, and it made her face hot.

“Isabeaux? Can I… talk to you?” His voice was hesitant, as if the conversation he was starting was not one he wanted to have. She nodded but didn’t physically answer. “When we were at the tower, I… um… ran into Ser Cullen.” Her face was an impassive mask. If she knew or felt anything, she wasn’t giving it away. “We… talked.”

“Oh? Did you have an interesting conversation?” She bit the inside of her cheek, wanting to know, but not wanting it.

“He still loves you.” The words were soft and accusatory. She didn’t know why, it is not like she had been corresponding with Cullen. He had ended it and it broke her heart. It had been mending slowly; she could go a whole day without thinking of him. After seeing Alistair waiting for her in the tower, she hadn’t given Cullen another thought. Now, her mind went to the letter sitting in her pouch waiting to be read. She looked at Alistair, tears pricked at her eyes for the hurt he seemed to be feeling. 

“I think Cullen loved an ideal, a china doll, something… unchanging. If I had stayed in the tower, and Uldred hadn’t gotten power, then maybe I could have fooled myself into thinking I was in love with him. There was no future for us, even then. I still would have been a mage, and he a templar. We could never marry each other. Partially because it isn’t done, partially because a mage can be sent to a different circle on a First Enchanter’s whim or by request; a templar might find himself reassigned. Any child born within the circle is taken from the mage, soon after its born, by the Chantry. 

“Now? I am a monster in his eyes. He might be able to fool himself for a bit, but faced with the reality? No. I’m not what he wants. I hope he finds it though, where ever he’s going.”

“You knew? How?”

“Knight Commander Greagoir told me. He handed me a letter.” Isabeaux shrugged it off; she didn’t want to discuss Cullen while she was still dreaming of Alistair’s touch.

“Oh. Did you read it?” Alistair had gotten quiet and she could see the wheels turning.

“No.” She hoped that would end the questions. They needed to pick up the pace. She’d much rather face a horde of demons than have this conversation with Alistair… ever. “We need to get back. How far do you think we are?”

Her question stopped his, for now. He estimated that if they pushed their mounts, they’d get back to Redcliffe about dusk. Isabeaux nodded and kicked her mount into a run. She would do her best to out run the pain she was feeling. 

 

Redcliffe Castle looked much like it did when they left. She had hoped for increased activity outside the walls at least. Isabeaux prayed that she hadn’t sent others to their death. There were hands in the stable to take care of the horses as they rode in. Dismounting, she and Alistair hurried in and were gratified to see Irving, Wynne and many of the Circle mages waiting for them.

“Oh, good. You’ve returned. I was worried that we would have to try this without you.” Irving forced good cheer in his voice. Isabeaux looked around and saw why. Isolde was there, sobbing and demanding to be comforted. Isabeaux wanted to be sympathetic, but she just couldn’t work up to it. She was tired and angry. Teagan walked up to a servant and ordered something reviving for her and Alistair. The man was so kind to worry about their needs, even in the face of such tragedy. 

“Are we ready?” Isabeaux was curious. She wondered if it would feel like the Harrowing. 

“We just need to decide who is going into the Fade.” 

Isabeaux could have laughed. There was no decision. She was going in. Just before she could say that, Alistair caught her arm and pulled her into a corner.

“Are you sure? There are others here that could go in instead of you.” His eyes searched hers and she could feel the want building inside of her. 

“My choice. Your family. I promise I’ll get Connor out safe.” She smiled with a certainty she didn’t feel. His hand came up to cradle her face for a brief moment. Isabeaux wished he’d kiss her, but Irving called her back before he could. She walked away from Alistair, looking back only once. “I’m ready.”

The last thing she heard before she entered the Fade was Alistair’s voice, “No”.

*~*

Walking around the surreal landscape, she was reminded why she hated the Fade. Nothing made sense. She could hear an older gentleman, which had to be Arl Eamon. The shade of him that was trapped inside this part of the fade looked faintly like Teagan. His fear was helping to fuel the demon’s power. Isabeaux took a deep breath and got a strong grip on her anger knowing it would just help the demon get stronger.

She searched the small grove and found Connor, or at least what looked like the boy. Isabeaux approached it cautiously. After trying to reason with it, the demon attacked her. Isabeaux taunted it, drawing it out, finally forced it to take form, a desire demon. 

Isabeaux knew instinctively what drew it to Redcliffe. Isolde and Connor’s wanting the arl to be better. She could feel Isolde influence, and wondered if, even in passing, she had wished that Connor was strong enough to help. But there was something else there, a longing for something else. Isabeaux cleared her mind of all thoughts and went off in search of the demon. Her strength was fading, this would be the last battle and only one was leaving the Fade.

“I can sense your desire. Why don’t we… make a deal?” The creature appeared all around her, the voice echoing from dozens of mouths. Isabeaux took deep breaths, controlling her emotions and seeking the depths of her power. “You want him. I can make sure you have him. Always.”

The last word caught Isabeaux’s attention. Visions of Alistair, Teagan, Zevran and Cullen flashed through her mind in various states of dress. The creature laughed wickedly before continuing.

“You just need to choose one. What am I saying; you can have all of them. Give me the boy.”

“No.” The images became more erotic and Isabeaux could feel the want and the need for a loving touch become more than she could handle. Her body began to react and Isabeaux had to expend a considerable amount of energy to control even that much feeling. She had to move quickly, the demon had gotten even stronger.

“You cannot have the boy, and you cannot have me.” She pulled up all the energy she could muster. The Fade exploded with pulsing energy as Isabeaux used her desire for Alistair as extra fuel. The demon couldn’t hold on to it’s foot hold within the child and Connor was freed, as was the small portion of Eamon. The chaos had Isabeaux though. She merely sat in the storm of her making and hoped that when it cleared she would be free. Tired, she reclined against the dreamscape and hoped that Alistair could feel her love for him, that he would know. Isabeaux closed her eyes and slipped away.


	31. Lost and Found

Dearest Isabeaux,

I wish that I was strong enough to tell you this in person. You meant so much to me that words seem inadequate to describe them. For a brief moment you helped me see the man I wished to be, a man better than I was. When you were sent away, I felt my heart leave with you, and for months there was nothing but a blackness there. I died once when I’d heard the Wardens were dead, but still I wished I could hold you once more. Always.

When I was at my lowest, I saw you. Your heart never wavered. I thought it was another trick, but you didn’t let me go. Always. That was what we promised and I failed you. I failed you long before you left the first time. I see that now. I am sorry. 

When you walked away the last time, I couldn’t breathe for wanting you, hating you. The seeds of darkness that I allowed to be planted within me grew and festered until, for wanting you, I lashed out at those I am supposed to protect. I am being sent away. For my own good, for others. It doesn’t matter. I will never get to see you again. Never get to hold you, or apologize for my faults. 

Please, forgive me my love. My heart is yours. Forever.

Always yours,  
Cullen 

The letter was open on the nightstand. She looked so small against the pillow. Teagan had made sure that she got the best guest room in the house. In the past five days, she’d been awake for maybe a few hours during that time. Irving had stayed to make sure she hadn’t traded positions with the child as host for the demon. When he had satisfied his curiosity, Irving had left Wynne in charge of her well-being. Alistair sat on the side of her sickbed and brushed her hair off her face. Generally when he came to visit, Wynne was there. He turned and saw the letter. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he read the missive. 

“Alistair.” Her voice was soft and filled with longing. Her eyes were still closed, her face turned toward the firelight.

“Shhhh… rest now. I need you strong. I’m here, Isabeaux.” Abandoning the letter back on the nightstand he looked down on her small still form. “Come back to me, Isabeaux. Please.” His words were softly spoken and he leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. She smelled like apples and spices, something he hadn’t noticed before. “Open your eyes for me, Izzy, please.”

“My Alistair.” She wasn’t going to be lucid today, he realized. His name was the first word she had said in days. She was coming back, she had to.

“You really do care for her, don’t you?” Alistair’s head shot up and looked at the older mage, Wynne, standing in the doorway. He didn’t say anything at first. Then he turned his head and looked down at Isabeaux. He remembered the feeling of her in his hands, against his mouth, her smile, her laugh. She had become something more than just another Warden, another friend and companion.

“I love her, Wynne.” He picked up her hand and kissed it softly. No response. He tamped down his worry. “What if it’s too late?” Alistair stood up, careful not to jostle the bed’s precious burden.

“You can’t think that. She expended more energy than she should have been able to. The boy shows no signs of having been possessed. Arl Eamon rests soundly, without waking, but no longer fading as he had been. She repaired the damage from the demon, as well as sending it back into the void. She is stronger than any of us knew. She will recover. Any day now, she will wake on her own.” Wynne hugged the young man, trying to soothe his worries. “Go get something to eat. I will let you know if she wakes up.”

Alistair nodded and left the room. Wynne walked over to the bed and looked at the letter. She had read its contents to Isabeaux when she had opened her eyes the first time, only to watch her slide into a deep sleep. She’d heard Isabeaux’s voice and had hoped. 

“Wake up Isabeaux. You have work to do. You have people waiting and counting on you.” Wynne’s voice was insistent, pushing at the mind of the sleeping mage. She sat on the side of the bed and stroked Isabeaux’s brow.

“Love.” The word was a prayer on Isabeaux’s lips.

“He’s waiting for you Isabeaux. Wake up now.” Wynne’s voice soft as a mother’s. Isabeaux opened her eyes and looked up at Wynne. The apple green of her eyes dark in her very pale face.

“Where am I, Wynne?” Isabeaux was confused. She didn’t remember going to an inn, and unless she was still asleep, camp never felt like this.

“Redcliffe Castle. Everyone has been waiting for you to wake up.”

“How long?” Her throat felt dry and hot. Wynne poured a small cup of water while she considered what to tell her.

“Five days. The boy, Connor, is fine. The arl rests comfortably. You are a credit to the Circle of Magi. What you have done… I don’t think I could have done it better. Do you think you could eat something?”

Isabeaux nodded and tried to hide her disappointment. She had dreamed that Alistair had been watching over her. She could have sworn that he said he loved her, but it must have been a dream, or another delusion sent by the archdemon. She smiled at Wynne and the older mage left to get her something to eat. Isabeaux took the letter open on her nightstand and looked it over. She remembered the words, and the hurt that went with them, but she felt none of it now. All she wanted now was to see Alistair smile, just once. She loved him so much it ached, but she knew she couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not until she was sure it was her feeling and not something the archdemon was taunting her with.

She saw movement at the door and looked up expecting Wynne. Alistair stood there. He smiled at her as she met his eyes, and she could have sworn her heart stopped beating. She smiled back.

“Alistair.”

*~*

She walked slowly into the bedchamber of the arl, accompanied by Alistair and Wynne. Neither of her companions wanted to leave her alone, feeling that she was still recovering. She was tired of lying abed and needed to get up and moving. It’d been three days since her eyes opened and she wanted out of the castle. 

Isolde looked haughtily at her. Teagan, however, walked forward with both hands extended, happy to see her up and about. He had been denied the sickroom but hovered around the door waiting for news. It turned out that the village was recovering from the attacks. Her companions had been helpful dealing with bandits on the road and rebuilding. Alistair had taken charge while she was non-responsive, keeping everyone busy. Teagan kissed her cheeks, happy to be able to give her an update.

There was little change from the time she had come back from the Fade, although the healers claimed that he was stronger. Isabeaux had seen Connor running through the halls. Seeing that he hadn’t been scarred by the demon made her feel good.

Isolde was distraught that her husband was still couldn’t be awakened, even with the demon gone. Somehow, this had become Isabeaux’s problem. Something wasn’t sitting right though. She was saying all the right things about wanting Eamon alive, but there was something else. She looked at the other three people in the room.

“Would you all excuse us, please. I would like to talk to the arlessa… alone.” She smiled at everyone but Isolde as she spoke. 

“Isabeaux. You are still weak.” Alistair placed his hands gently on her shoulders. She touched one and looked up at him.  
“Please, just for a few minutes Alistair.” She smiled softly at him. He nodded and led the others out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Lady Isolde, we need to talk.” Gone was her kind, soft tone. Her eyes had turned hard as stone.

“Unless you are going in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes for my beloved, we have nothing to talk about.” Isolde didn’t even look at the warden. Isabeaux didn’t care.

“Lady, and I use the term loosely at the moment. I wanted you to know that I know who drew the demon here. “ Isabeaux’s smile was cold and hard as her eyes. “You did. With your infidelity. You desired your brother in law, and the head of your knights. You were tired of the old man you married. It was attracted to you, and found your precious son. I only know because the demon and Connor both told me. I wouldn’t have believed it of the demon alone. But then, the best lies are based in truth. I have seen how you act around Teagan and Perth.”

Isolde blanched. She started to stutter and deny it, but Isabeaux could feel the truth of it. 

“I suggest, Lady Isolde, that you get your house in order. I would hate to have the arl find out when he recovers.”

“Are you threatening me mage?” Isolde tried to sneer the words but Isabeaux couldn’t care about the woman’s good wishes.

“I don’t have to, Lady. I will let Teagan know that I know. I know he will tell your husband, about his indiscretion if Eamon doesn’t already know. I will fetch your ashes, just remember what I have said. Good day, Lady.” Isabeaux sketched the barest of curtsies and left the room. Teagan stopped her on the way to the chambers she had been staying in. 

“What should we do with Jowan, my lady.” 

“If you want my opinion, I would like him returned to the Circle of Magi. There he will be tried by the Chantry’s laws and either executed or made tranquil. That is the opinion of the warden. My personal wish would be that he be given a chance to redeem himself, but my wishes will not be considered.” She gave him the barest of smiles.

“What was he to you?” Teagan was curious that she would give such different judgments.

“Once he was a friend. Then he was a traitor. Now he is a stranger, with a sad history.” Isabeaux looked inward and wished she could have said more in his defense.

“I will hold him for Eamon’s judgment. If the arl dies, so does he.” Teagan nodded at her.

“As you wish, my lord. Now, I need to pack. We go off in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes and the rest of these treaties.” 

“You aren’t yet fully healed Isabeaux. You should stay.” Teagan took one of her hands in both of his. 

“I would rather get on the road. To much time has been wasted on waiting for me to recover. Start gathering the army for me though. The Blight is coming and we may have little time.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You should… see to Isolde. I was given a message for her in the Fade and I don’t think that it is sitting well with her.”

She alerted Alistair and Wynne of her plans and left it to them to organize the rest of the companions. She moved through her chamber packing her things. The last she collected was Cullen’s letter. She poured out the amulet and looked at it, remembering how happy she was to have received it, how proud. She remembered how her heart had shattered as she gave back the token of love to Cullen. Now, as it glinted in her hand, she felt nothing. She crumpled the letter , and tossed it into the fire. Isabeaux watched it burn for a second before turning to the door.

She looked up to see Alistair watching her. He pushed himself off the door jamb and walked over to her. Alistair raised his hand and touched her face, lightly. Iabeaux looked into his eyes, her soul laid bare for him. He leaned in and kissed her gently. When he pulled back, Isabeaux lost herself in his eyes. She could wait for everything that one night had promised, Isabeaux just hoped that she wouldn’t have to wait too long.


	32. Into the Woods

Isabeaux walked, oblivious to her companions, her face turned up to the canopy of leaves and feeling the fat, warm raindrops drip down. She’d been leading their party through the woods for days; Alistair had gone back to being a follower. Isabeaux hoped they were lost, hopelessly so, that would show them. She took another deep breath and became absorbed in the silence of the woods and the feeling of the rain. 

“Are we going to stop soon? I am soaked and tired. We should stop, before we lose our way any further.” Morrigan had raised her voice, interrupting Isabeaux’s daydreaming. From the shrill sound, the witch had made this same request fairly recently. Isabeaux shrugged and looked around at ground level; they had stepped into a clearing bordered on one side by a large lake and on the other by thick woods. 

“Fine. We can stop here and make camp.” She slipped the pack off her back and moved away from the others to set up her tent. Her heart clenched wanting a distraction from her feelings for Alistair. Neither of them had spent any time alone in each other’s company since leaving Redcliffe. She looked at the canvas and then surreptitiously wove a spell over it to keep the rain out.

“Might I say, my dear Grey Warden that you look especially lovely… wet.” She rolled her eyes and turned to Zevran to explain, again, that she cared for him, as a friend only. The elven assassin was incredibly close and her breastplate brushed against his chest as she turned toward him. When they were face to face, he settled one hand on her hip and the other brushed a wet strand of hair from the side of her face. “Truly lovely.” Zevran moved closer and while she was flattered, she still stepped back. 

“Excuse me, Zevran.” She smiled and stepped away, looking at Alistair as the warden moved closer. She and Alistair passed each other, she with her eyes cast down and Alistair’s eyes on her. Isabeaux crossed the camp to Wynne, helping the older woman as she struggled with the wet components of the tent, but Isabeaux’s mind was still with Alistair and Zevran. She and Wynne stopped what they were doing to hear the deep tones of conversation, a counterpoint to the light sound of rain.

“So, I have a question for you, Zevran. What are your intentions… with her?” Alistair checked the strength of Isabeaux’s tent construction as he spoke.

“You speak of her as if she is not present. She is right over there, you know...” Zevran smiled and as an additional poke at Alistair, began to set his tent by Isabeaux’s.

“Don’t dodge the question. I’m serious.”

“Mmmmmm… Do I detect a hint of jealousy there? Feeling… territorial are we?” Isabeaux’s heart beat a little faster at the thought he might hint at his feelings. 

 

“I am just asking what your intentions are. You did try to kill us all, remember?” Alistair’s face darkened as Zevran danced around his words. Isabeaux sighed and turned away, setting up Wynne’s tent without the other woman’s aid. Wynne was watching the exchange, and Isabeaux, carefully.

“And now I owe her a blood debt, as she has spared my life. It has brought us… closer together.”

“I’m going to go gather some water. I’ll be back soon.” She looked around for the bucket and then walked out of the camp. Isabeaux tried to find serenity in the rain as she had before, stretching out her senses, and feeling old magic running deep in the earth. She reached the edge of the water and sat on the damp sandy bank. She heard the steps behind her but refused to look back, Isabeaux could hear that it wasn’t the man she wanted to see.

“While I am aware, my lovely, that you are capable of protecting yourself, you shouldn’t be out here alone.” Zevran sat down next to her and placed his hand behind her, leaning in toward Isabeaux. 

“Zevran? Don’t. Not here, not now. Just… no. Please?” She smiled at him.

“As you wish. Should you change your mind…?” He leaned in and kissed her softly, softer than she would have thought him capable, but she didn’t feel for him as she did for Alistair. Instead of speaking or trying to respond, she got to her feet and filled the bucket. “I could carry that for you.”

She looked at Zevran and wanted to send him away, bucket in hand. She wanted to stay, seek the peace she so desperately needed. Instead, she left Zevran at the water’s edge and started back to camp and met Alistair striding toward them.

“I… Isabeaux? I’d like to talk to you.” Alistair sounded worried.

“What’s wrong? I’ve only been gone for a few minutes.” She set the buckets down and examined his face.

“I just think that you shouldn’t go wandering around by yourself.” His hand started to go toward hers but he hesitated.

“Odd. That’s what Zevran said.” She looked back to where the elf was still sitting, but had turned toward them. Zevran smiled at her when their eyes met. Isabeaux rolled hers and looked back at Alistair, waiting.

“I don’t want to hear about Zevran. I want…” His voice trailed off as he took in Zevran and Isabeaux. She reached out and touched the back of his hand, dragging his attention back to her. Alistair simply stood for a moment, his eyes searching her face for something. The tension was simply too much for her and a tear ran down her cheek. His hand came up, caressing her cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear. Unable to form anymore words, his other hand came up to capture her other cheek and he swooped in claiming her mouth. 

Isabeaux’s eyes widened for a brief second and then relaxed against him. Alistair lifted his mouth from hers and looked into her eyes. She wasn’t ready to return to the camp, seeking the peace that his kiss had given her. Isabeaux ran her hands up his chest and around the back of his neck, playing with the hair there. 

“Kiss me again.” The words were whispered but burned hotly between them.

“Your desire is my command.” He smiled as he spoke and claimed her mouth again. She opened to him readily, allowing him to brand her as his. Alistair wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tightly into him. She released his mouth and kissed his neck, hotly. “Isabeaux. I…” 

She thought she knew what was coming and backed away. 

“No. Not anymore.” Alistair started as he kissed her hotly and pulled her back, tightly, into his embrace. “We… I just think that we need to get to know each other better. We know so little about each other.” When he felt confident that she wasn’t going anywhere he cupped the back of her neck, rubbing his thumb along the spot just under her ear. Her heart thrummed and she moaned against him. Alistair backed away just a touch and looked down into her soft green eyes. “I care for you, so much, but when I’m around you I feel like I’m all… hands.”

She laughed softly and kissed his jawline, nipping at him softly. He leaned back a little, but wouldn’t release his hold on her. 

“For the record,” Alistair purred, “I believe that you are most lovely here, in my arms, regardless of the weather. I hope I never give you reason to leave them.” He leaned in and kissed her once more.

There was a movement at the edges of the forest. Alistair didn’t notice at first, but as she stiffened against him, he became aware of their surroundings.

“Perhaps it’s just forest creatures.” She spoke from within the safety of his arms. Isabeaux shocked herself with a revelation, that it was only in Alistair’s embrace that she truly felt shielded from harm. Unsure if that thought gave her comfort, she turned her attention fully on the woods.

“No. Though I wish it were. We need to get back to camp, and prepare.” Alistair spoke quietly to her, prolonging the embrace. Incapable of resisting, he placed one more gentle kiss under her ear and escorted her back to the camp.

The tension in the camp had increased, everyone was aware of the odd sounds of the forest. All three mages tensed, preparing to attack or defend as their nature dictated. Everyone else drew their weapons. Slowly sliding from the shadows archers appeared; the Dalish had found them.


	33. More Than A Glance

“Why are you here outsider?” The woman speaking was stunning, and that was the only thought in Isabeaux’s mind. The archers under her command were strung as tightly as their bows, but Isabeaux had no fear of them as she stepped even closer to the Dalish commander. She took her time in answering the woman, trying to figure out what to say that would keep both sides intact; they weren’t enemies, not yet at any rate.

“We need to see your leader.” She kept her voice calm, not bothering to look back at her companions. The Dalish had chosen to speak to her, so we would answer.

“And, exactly what do you think is so important that we would bother our Keeper with your needs?” The woman sneered at Isabeaux and her companions. 

“I am a Grey Warden. I am here about the Blight.” Isabeaux’s smile turned a bit wicked as she watched all of the Dalish pale a bit. The Dalish speaker’s expression turned from condemnation to awe. Isabeaux didn’t bother to change her posture, she merely waited for the woman to either take her to this Keeper, or leave.

“Not many would make that claim, especially not an elf.” The woman’s voice tried to regain the inherent sneer it held moments before.

“Not many would want the burden, especially not an elf, or a mage, yet here I am regardless. Now, I would like to speak with your Keeper, if it is convenient now. If not, we shall wait until morning, our camp unmolested.” Isabeaux was tired of the power games this woman seemed to want to play.

“I will not allow so many into our camp. Choose your companions, no more than three others, and I will take you to see him.” The woman stepped back to the edge of Isabeaux’s camp. 

“I am going with you.” Alistair’s voice was rough in her ear. Isabeaux looked at him and nodded. As far as she was concerned, this was Warden business and he was necessary in this. Zevran also stepped forward volunteering to meet with the Dalish. Isabeaux was happy to have another elf join her. Roland was the last to be chosen. Finally, in defiance of the order she called Reaper to her side. Nodding at the others, Isabeaux stepped forward to join the Dalish. The warriors seemed happy with her choice of Zevran but the other two men received only sneers. 

 

The Keeper of the Dalish was not what Isabeaux had expected after hearing stories in the Alienage and Mage Tower. She had expected a man of veneration and wisdom, not this sneering creature. She extended her senses and felt a wrongness in his power. He was introduced as Zathrian, and she could feel him reaching out with his own power to test and taste hers. The Keeper’s silver eyes narrowed as she flexed her power in response to his test, her face impassive as she did so.

“I suspect you have come because of the treaties we signed so many centuries before. I apologize that you have come so far as we are unable to aid you. We have our own troubles.” His voice filled with the power at his command. Reaper growled deep in his throat, instinctively moving in front of his mistress to protect her. Alistair quipped that it seemed to be a running theme with all those whom the treaties had bound. Zevran chuckled at the Keeper’s discomfort with both dog and man. Isabeaux kept her mouth shut, but looked around at the Dalish camp, her eyes lingering on the number of men and women injured and lying on cots nearby. 

Zathrian noticed her interest and, moved by her sympathy for the injured, explained what had happened. 

“We often stop near here every time we travel through this forest. A few nights ago we were attacked by a pack of werewolves. Many of our hunters were injured and even now, the curse that those creatures carry flow through the veins of our hunters. I fear that soon we will lose even more, for the cure for their affliction lies deep in the forest.” Isabeaux nodded even as she tried to send healing waves throughout the infirmary, easing the pain of the wounded. Zathrian smiled at her kindness, but the edge of his grin was sharp and wicked. 

“How may we assist your people, Zathrian?” Her voice was soft with concern for the Dalish camp.

“If you would go into the wood and seek the wolf, Witherfang. It is from him that the curse stems. Find the creature and bring back his heart and this curse might be ended.” 

His words chilled her. Something other than simple concern for his people was at work here, but she could not turn her back on the need of the many.

“I would ask that the rest of my companions be allowed in or near the camp then, while we search for this Witherfang. They can assist in the protection of the camp’s borders and if we succeed, then as we will be allies, we can begin to work together.” The Keeper nodded his agreement reluctantly and sent the Dalish woman who had guided them to bring the others and their gear. He then encouraged Isabeaux to talk to Sarel, the clan story teller and suggested a visit to Varathorn, the clan’s craftmaster for supplies. Isabeaux wandered around the camp for a bit, following paths of magic and energy that only she seemed to be able to feel. It had encouraged her to ease the pain of a hunter whose wife had succumbed to the curse and lend aid to the master herder. Finally, she came to rest for a bit at the edge of a lake. She stood and stared at it, allowing her own energies to recharge. Alistair came up behind her and placed one of his hands on her shoulder. She leaned back, taking comfort in his gentle touch.

“What are you thinking of, Isabeaux?” He had leaned in close to her, creating a feeling of intimacy.

“Something is wrong, Alistair. I… I don’t quite know how to explain it.” She turned and faced him, his face a mask of confusion. She tried to clarify. “If we were among the mages of the Tower, I would assume a demon at work here, but the power here is not demonic, merely twisted. Whoever or whatever created this curse… it was done out of anger and sorrow. He leaned in and kissed her softly.

“We will figure it out and help if we can Izzy.” He grinned as she scowled at yet another of his attempts to shorten her name. Choosing to ignore the nickname, she leaned up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, gratified at the look of contentment on his face as she eased back. When his eyes opened, her body tightened in response to the heat she saw there. He cleared his throat and stepped back, motioning to her that she should lead again. Grinning, she sought out the storyteller.

 

Isabeaux neared the fire at which Sarel sat and waited patiently to join the fire, something her father had once told her was polite. She smiled slightly at the memory just as Sarel looked over at her. He smiled back instinctively before welcoming her to sit. The storyteller asked about her lineage and told her about the Dalish, much of which she had either heard or read about, although from a distinctly human point of view. Sarel was surprised at her depth of knowledge, commenting on it with a smile. He shared his knowledge of the forest and warned her to watch where she walked because many had become helplessly confused and lost within its borders. She thanked him and got up to leave when the storyteller stopped her. 

“Come out of the woods before nightfall.”

Isabeaux was confused at the adamant tone from the man, he had been so quiet during his tales. She nodded her agreement to return to the camp before dark, gathered the men and entered the wood.


	34. If You Could See

Isabeaux looked up and saw the fading light through the canopy of trees. She gathered the men and the four of them, and Reaper, walked tiredly out of the woods. They had fought a number of werewolves, darkspawn and trees come to life. She felt that they had accomplished nothing except finding one missing hunter who had been seriously wounded and some special wood for the craftmaster. Angry and frustrated with herself, she and the others stepped from the emerald world of the woods to the busy clearing. She was gratified to see her other companions had been brought into the camp. Wynne was assisting the healers with the wounded, the others helping where they could. Zathrian seemed surprised to see them, but agreed that attempting to find Witherfang in the darkness would be a fool's errand. The keeper requested that few of the storage aravels be cleared for their guests to stay in, as the large wooden covered wagons would provide better protection from the weather and possible attack. Sten chose to remain under the stars with Reaper. Dinner was a communal affair with Sarel and Leliana trading off with the telling of stories. Once, Sarel asked Isabeaux to tell a story from her time in the Tower or before. She relayed a small tale of the younger apprentices attempt to get out of cleaning their barracks which made everyone chuckle. Sarel looked hard at her before speaking.

“Well, da’len, that certainly fulfills the request for a story, but I was hoping to hear one about you.” He smiled to soften the censure. She looked away from the fire before answering the storyteller.

“If you have a question about me in particular, Ser, then you should ask it. I am not one for telling tales.” She smiled and excused herself. She walked down to the lake and sat for a minute. Wynne joined her a few minutes later.

“May I have a word with you, Isabeaux?” Isabeaux looked up at the older mage and nodded. When Wynne had settled herself, the older mage began speaking. “You are quite taken with him, aren’t you?” It took Isabeaux a minute or two to realize who she was speaking about. Alistair. Unable to form the words, Isabeaux just nodded. Wynne then took the opportunity to remind the young mage about her responsibilities as a Warden and how she had to put her own needs aside to achieve those goals, which would certainly hurt Alistair.

“So, you are saying that I should end whatever we have, just because you are sure I cannot both love and complete my mission?”

“I am saying that he was born to be king. I don’t want either of you hurt. If it is ended now, then you can both focus on the task ahead with clear minds and when all of this is over, you can find a love that is more appropriate to your station in life. He will need to be free to find a queen, as his station will demand. I know this hurts to hear, but please think about it.” Wynne touched Isabeaux’s shoulder, offering her small comfort before leaving the elven mage at the water’s edge. Isabeaux’s world was crumbling, and Wynne was right, but instead of seeking Alistair out to end it with him, she couldn’t move. Isabeaux merely sat at the water’s edge and cried.

Alistair found her like that, crying as if her heart was broken and tears of sympathy fell down his face. He walked slowly, quietly to her. When she didn’t respond to his closeness, he sat and gathered her into his arms and let her sob, softly murmuring in her ear, trying to ease her pain.

“What is wrong, Izzy? You can… you can tell me. Shhhhhh. Don’t cry, I’m here.” They were words that he half remembered from the one man who had given him comfort, the old stable master in Redcliffe. Isabeaux shook her head.

“You have to leave, Alistair. You are going to be King. I… we…” She dissolved into incomprehensible tears again.

“I’m not going anywhere Izzy. I don’t want to be King, I thought I made that clear. What… what happened?”

“Wynne. She pointed out the obvious. We can’t ever…” Before she could finish that thought, Alistair’s mouth was on hers, claiming it, branding it with heat.

“Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t know the future. All I care about is right here, right now. You, in my arms. Know that in your heart.” His expression was fierce, then he pulled Isabeaux close to him, pulling her into his lap and curling around her. She could almost hear his thoughts. There were only two of them left, and that was all that mattered. No one else could understand what they had been through, who they were now. After her tears had stopped, Alistair relaxed his hold. "Hey, let’s… let’s go for a walk.” He kissed her cheek and lifted her up as he stood. Nodding, she let him lead her along a path around the lake. At one spot, she pulled him closer to the edge. “What? Isabeaux?”

“I want to take a swim. Come with me.” She could feel the heat of his blush. “I promise not to compromise you.” She said the last with a smile.

“What if I wanted you to?” The heat of his words caused her to shiver. Instead of answering him, she moved into the cover of the bushes a little more and undid the buckles of her armor and skinned it off until she was dressed in just her small clothes and short chemise. The moonlight outlined her lithe form as she danced away from him, nearly nude. He could hear the splash of water and looked in time to see her dive under. Alistair took the opportunity to divest himself of his gear and placing it next to hers, slipped into the water.

He surprised her as she broke through to the surface, immediately embracing her and spinning her around in the cool water. She smiled and laughed, enjoying the break in the constant fighting. Isabeaux’s hair streamed down and fanned out in the water. He started to lift her up, out of the water to kiss her and she started wiggling, fearful of him seeing her through her wet chemise. He ignored her struggles and gripping her flanks and lifting her out of the lake. She looked like a nymph gripping his shoulders with her hair streaming down around them.

He pulled her close to him and kissed her soundly, letting her slide down his chest and into the water once more. Alistair laughed as she flipped, spun and dove through the water, enjoying the freedom. Her joy was infectious and soon he was playing along. At one point, his hand brushed the side of her breast and for both Wardens the childish play was abandoned for a more adult one. She hooked her leg around his hip and bobbed lightly against him, weightless in the water. His hands worked down into her small clothes, stroking her skin, causing her breathing to hitch and become ragged. Beneath the chemise, the tips of her breasts pebbled and rubbed against his bare skin. They both knew that if they stayed like this any longer, that they would reach a point of no return. Without speaking, but by mutual consent they broke apart.

She waited in the water as he got out, admiring his form in the pale moonlight. When he had disappeared into the shadows, she flipped onto her back and floated for a few minutes, letting him dress. She looked up at the stars and felt as if she could almost reach them. Isabeaux could hear him calling and she made her way to the shore. His hand reached out and helped her from the lake, pulling her out and up into his arms. 

“My lady, you unman me,” his voice breathy in her ear. She melted against him.

“We should get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.” Her voice rubbed against him like velvet.

“Sleep will be difficult now, but you are right, we should try. Put Wynne out of your mind for now, please? We’ll talk about it again, later.” He kissed her nose, trying to put some distance between himself and his desire. She hurriedly used her magic to dry off and then dressed.

Together they returned to camp. She moved to the aravel where Wynne and Leliana were to sleep. She arrived before either woman and crawled into a bunk, falling asleep instantly

Isabeaux awoke with the dawn as had become her custom since leaving the Tower. She slipped past the sleeping women and into the camp. Few of the Dalish were up already but Isabeaux was unsurprised to see Sarel at the fire, watching her.

“Good morning, Sarel.” She greeted him with a smile and a slight dip of her head. The storyteller handed her a bowl of hot cereal to break her fast and waited patiently until she had finished before speaking.

“Tell me of your time in the Tower.” His words, though soft, held a note of command. This man could sway all of the Dalish and he was asking of her history to judge her character. She spoke quietly but frankly of her experiences, good and bad. Much of her more intimate moments, she kept to herself. The only time she chose to go in depth, though, was in discussing why she left the Circle to become a Warden. Isabeaux had watched his face the entire time, as he held it impassive, not wanting to interrupt or influence her narrative. When she had ended her tale, sadness flooded his face. The elven man, brusque yet kind, was surprised at both the horror and joy she had been witness to. Isabeaux wondered what life would have been like, growing up with the Dalish. The storyteller patted her hand and left the fire, when she turned, Alistair was there. His lips slightly parted as if to speak, but no words came. When she looked into his eyes, she only saw love and acceptance. He walked slowly over to her, and sat down. Never taking his eyes off of hers, Alistair kissed Isabeaux, setting her aflame with desire.

A cough behind them alerted both wardens to Zevran’s presence. He and Roland were ready to brave the forest once again. This time, they packed provisions, Alistair and Roland grabbing something to break their fast as they walked. The four of them entered the forest,hoping that they could find the wolf and break the curse. They needed the Dalish to aid against the Blight, and it appeared it would only happen if they completed this task first.


	35. Terrible, Beautiful

They had managed to pass through a series of tests. The magic inherent in the land was still twisted and wrong, and their continued difficulties had something to do with that. Witherfang still hadn’t been found and Isabeaux was beginning to wonder if this elusive creature was real, or even if was the cause of the problems. The werewolves that they had encountered had attacked, certainly, but they had also tried to talk Isabeaux and her companions out of searching for Witherfang. With each successive encounter, Isabeaux became more convinced that Zathrian was lying to them. 

It wasn’t until they had reached the ruins that she became sure of that fact. There was song in the stones called that her name and made her uneasy. At one point, the magical energies were so strong, Isabeaux almost collapsed. Roland had caught her before she hit the ground but it was quite a while before she could continue. Alistair asked her a few times whether or not she wanted to return to the Dalish camp. She shook her head and pushed on, trying to block out the noise. Ghostly shades flowed through the walls taunting her, but only Isabeaux seemed to be able to see them. The walking dead attacked them at every turn, and Isabeaux was grateful to have such skilled fighters working alongside her. 

In one room, there was one stone that had a soul trapped within. Isabueax had picked it up and visions filled her head. For several moments she couldn’t differentiate between the past and the present. The poor soul trapped within had to have been there for hundreds of years, possibly dating back to the time of Arlathan that the storyteller had spoken about, a time when elves had mastery over magic. The creature within the stone offered her its memories, but she refused on the grounds that it shouldn’t have to barter for an act of mercy. As she smashed it on the altar stone as it had asked, there was an energy transfer. Its memories flooded into her mind, the soul’s last thought was “thank you.” Alistair rushed forward worried that she had harmed herself, her nose bloodied with the power transfer. 

Choosing to move even more slowly through the ruins, the others watched her carefully as she followed the clues that the voices in the stones gave her. She would occasionally stop and listen, worrying her comrades, but each step was measured and careful. Zevran was the only one who didn’t question her path, and she was beginning to wonder if he could hear the voices too. Further down into the earth they went and the voice kept getting louder. Finally they encountered a trio of werewolves and were asked to parlay with ‘the Lady’. 

Unsure of what they were going to encounter, all Isabeaux wanted was an end to the constant voice in her head, urging her forward. She walked through the door, and all of the external voices stopped. She took a deep breath and smelled wildflowers. This was the first place since coming to the Brecilian Forest that she didn’t feel a wrongness. A spirit in the form of a woman floated through the ranks of the werewolves. Isabeaux watched, trying to figure out what kind of spirit it was, a tether of energy connected her to the world above. The werewolves didn’t want her or her companions there, but the Lady did. 

The creature told Isabeaux of a great harm that was done to Zathrian centuries ago. How the men of a settlement near the forest had attacked a Dalish camp. These animals had beaten and killed Zathrian’s son, but worse, they had raped Zathrian’s daughter and left her to suffer. Zathrian had been beside himself and called upon all of the spirits of the fade as he watched his daughter give into her pain and slip away. Zathrian had then come to the temple in which Isabeaux now stood and bound a spirit to the form of a wolf, its bite a curse to all. One by one the humans of the settlement fell prey to the curse and either died or became a werewolf. As the spirit spoke, Isabeaux could see history playing out, shadows of Zathrian’s children begging to be laid to rest. They were trapped as surely as the spirit, Zathrian’s rage keeping them in this place. His rage, their spirits and the Lady had combined to taint the earth above. 

“Please, speak to Zathrian and convince him to come here. If you do this, I will convince Witherfang to show. If he doesn’t, then he will never find Witherfang and his people will die.” The Lady snarled the last words, and finally the picture was complete. The Lady, the spirit, was also Witherfang. The cause and the cure were one and the same, now if Isabeaux could just convince the Keeper that what he was doing in perpetuating this curse through either anger or ambivalence was also hurting his clan. Isabeaux agreed to retrieve the Keeper and bring him to the temple. 

Isabeaux fairly flew up the stairs leading to the surface and skidded to a halt as she saw Zathrian, kneeling over the body of a dead hunter. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the Keeper. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she could see the tether that bound both the Keeper and the spirit. She wanted to tell the elder elf that it was his anger that was keeping his children from finding peace in the next world, but she knew that he wouldn’t listen, not yet. 

“Have you retrieved the heart of Witherfang?”

“No.” She focused on her breathing, afraid of what would happen should she lose control within the temple. She could feel the spirits of the dead trying to speak through her, and they were perilously close to the surface.

“Then… why are you leaving the ruin?” She could hear the anger and frustration in the Keeper’s voice.

“I have been sent to get you. The werewolves and the spirit that has calmed their bestial nature wish to speak with you. I have been sent as their emissary and to protect you while within the temple.”

“At least you haven’t forgotten your place in all of this Warden. You may have done much to convince my clan to open to you, but I am not fooled. I know what you want done, and I forbid it.” 

“What is it you think I want done, tther than to have the Dalish live up to the treaty that they signed? I came in this ruin at your request to help your hunters, your clan. I believe that this is the first step to healing them. Please, Zathrian, listen to me, you need to give this a chance.” Isabeaux’s voice had begun to break as her control ran perilously close to snapping.

“Very well, but this is a waste of time. You must agree to protect me while I am in the ruin.” Isabeaux saw fear in the Keeper’s face. He had not returned since his children had died, centuries ago. He was as much a victim of his curse as the werewolves.

“I will protect you as long as you do nothing to instigate any fighting.” The Keeper huffed at her requirement but allowed himself to be led to the temple within the ruin.

The meeting between Zathrian and the Lady was anything but cordial. It certainly did not help that the werewolves continued to push at the tenuous accord between elf and wolf. Zathrian’s anger finally got the better of him, insisting that Isabeaux and her companions protect him and gathering his power to attack. Isabeaux refused and with the first blast of power from Zathrian, Isabeaux stepped in front of the Lady, taking the brunt of the attack. She fell to one knee and glared at the elf. She no longer cared that he was supposed to be one of her people, even as removed as they were, he had broken the peace. Isabeaux opened herself fully to her power, something she had avoided since going to the Fade to help the arl and his son. Focusing on the Keeper, she brought his children forward from their in-between state. They begged their father to end the curse and release them. Zathrian would not see reason and Isabeaux continued to throw spell after spell at him as her companions worked to keep the demons he had summoned from hurting both the Lady and the wolves. Seeing one last chance to end his attack, she severed the tether between him and the ruin. The Keeper fell, he was still connected to the Lady, but he could no longer draw on the forest to power his magic. Isabeaux staggered a bit with exhaustion. The Keeper admitted defeat but still didn’t want to end the curse on the humans, admitting his anger and hatred.

The Lady finally convinced him. She was tired of this world, just as she imagined he was. Isabeaux watched as the Lady looked her last on her children, the werewolves. As she took Zathrian with her, Isabeaux could barely make out him being reunited with his children, something the Lady would never have. A light, bright as the summer sun filled the dark temple and even in her weakened state, Isabeaux could feel the forest changing again, the taint of Zathrian’s anger fading. 

When the light ebbed, men and women stood in front of Isabeaux and the others, some human, some elven, all were surprised. The curse had been broken with the sacrifice of both the Keeper and the Lady. Isabeaux swayed slightly on her feet as the former werewolves ran from the temple. Some would rejoin the Dalish, others would seek their lives far from the forest. Isabeaux knelt at the broken altar where she had last seen both the Keeper and the Spirit, laying on the ground was an amulet in the shape of an oak leaf. She wondered which one had left it behind before she collapsed with exhaustion.

Alistair wanted to carry her out of the temple, but Zevran had refused. She needed rest, not a healer and to jostle her so, would only hurt her. The assassin moved forward and adjusted her body so that she could rest somewhat comfortably until she was ready to move on. Her eyes fluttered open once and saw Zevran looking down at her so tenderly she almost forgave him all of his blatant advances. She smiled and touched his face briefly before falling asleep. She woke in the temple, Alistair, Zevran and Roland arguing in the far corner. She shook her head, as much to clear it as in exasperation. The only words she could hear clearly was duty, King and forever. Isabeaux decided that she would rather be ignorant of their conversation and called out to the men to let them know that she had recovered sufficiently to leave.


	36. Only Me Beside You

Alistair asked her to take another walk with him after dinner at the camp. Isabeaux smiled and took his hand, avoiding eye contact with any of the other companions. When they had walked a ways into the darkness she realized that there was soft music playing somewhere in camp. Her eyes turned up to Alistair, he looked down and smiled.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” He bowed over her hand as she laughed lightly. Slowly, he took her into his arms and swirled her around in the darkness. Isabeaux felt like a princess from the stories she had read in the Circle. Under the light melody of the music, as he swept her off her feet with the romantic gestures within the dance, she told him one of the stories she could remember. 

He listened and laughed as she tried to recall all the details. When she would pause, he would add in his own touches. Isabeaux was enchanted by the sweetness of the man who held her so safely in his arms. The song wound down, the notes fading into the night to be replaced by the sounds of nature. He spun her one last time pulling her into his arms, against his chest. One hand slid up her side, and under her chin, lifting it up for a soft kiss. 

“Thank you, Alistair.” She smiled into his eyes and stepped back, putting space between them.

“Why are you thanking me? What are you thinking Isabeaux?” There was a tremor of worry in his voice.

“You are the prince from the tale, couldn’t you see that? In your arms I felt every inch the princess, so I thanked you. No man, no person has ever made me feel like you have.” She twined her fingers in his and looked off into the middle distance, avoiding eye contact.

“No one has made me feel like you have either. Around you, anything is possible. When you collapsed in the temple today, I thought I was going to lose you like I almost did when you went to the Fade. Only Zevran realized that you were tired, both from the journey through the temple and then the confrontation. He saw how you protected all of us and took the brunt of the magical attacks. Perhaps you should be thanking him.” Alistair was still looking down at her, concern on his face. She looked up and smiled tenderly at him.

“I could, if you like. Should I return to camp and ask him to walk along the lake with me?” Her teasing tone elicited a smile from him.

“Certainly, after you kill me and walk over my cold corpse.” She laughed at the obvious joke, gratified that he wasn’t telling her to leave. He paused, close to the edge of the lake. “Tell me a story about your life before.”

“Before what? You need to be more specific.” She tilted her head to the side as she waited for clarification.

“Tell me… tell me why you care so much about what happens to Jowan.” His voice was husky and protective, but of whom, Isabeaux wasn’t sure.

“I have known Jowan almost as long as I have been a part of the Circle. We were apprentices together, although he was a year ahead of me. We often studied together, and he would help me with my spells and I would help him when I could. He was a good friend, funny, sweet. When I turned thirteen, I found myself looking at him with new eyes. He was always there for me, making me laugh and seeking me out for companionship. He got me a gift to celebrate both my birthday and the fifth anniversary of me coming to the tower. He had convinced the cook to prepare a small repast, just for the two of us and he took me to a rarely used section of the Circle library. I fell a little in love with him for his thoughtfulness. I remember kissing him, my first kiss. His eyes widened as if he were bit by a snake, and backed away terrified. I watched him run from the room. I was mortified. I packed the remains of the meal and returned it to the kitchen and went back to the barracks. Sometime later, he came to my room and apologized for his reaction. He realized that he handled it badly, but that he didn’t feel about me the way I obviously felt about him. He told me that he saw me as a sister. I pulled away a little that day, turned into myself a little. I left him without even friendship for a while. When I had healed, I returned, but the ease of our friendship had been broken. We were friends, but never like we were. I saw the change in him, but did nothing, thinking that it was my own perception rather than reality. I was stunned when I found out that Jowan was a blood mage, I really never though he had it in him. I remember that kind young man, the one who extended his hand in friendship to a young frightened girl. A man who had thought enough of that girl to make sure that she had a present on her nameday and to celebrate a long friendship in a place where mages could be transferred to another circle without notice. I look at Jowan now and see the man he was and could still be.” She sighed. “Most people think that I am just gullible, or naive, but everyone deserves a chance to redeem him or herself.”

“Do you really believe that he could turn his life around?” Alistair’s voice was quiet and thoughtful.

“Honestly? Yes. He has the potential to be a wonderful mage that could change the world for the better, but he also has the potential to do a lot of damage. We all do. It would depend on him, not on anyone else, to make his life worth saving.”

“Did you love him?” The question surprised her. She looked at the man sitting next to her and wondered what his life was like. Did he have no friends, or lovers?

“In a way. Looking back, I loved him as only a young girl could love a friend and mentor. Even then, I couldn’t see myself with him for forever.” She smiled in sympathy for the love and pain that young girl felt. “I was in love with the idea of love, but I wanted to be rescued from the tower, by a knight in shining armor or a prince. Jowan rescued me, in a way, I suppose. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here with you. I wouldn’t be a warden. I wouldn’t even be outside, able to look up and see the stars.” 

“Isabeaux?” 

“Hmmmm.” She was lost in thought as she turned toward Alistair. He touched his lips to hers and smiled. He was so handsome, and kind, a true knight from the tales. When he pulled back, she lost herself in his eyes and wished she could stay there forever.

“I’m glad he rescued you. I’m even more glad that he didn’t realize what he could have had.” His hand caressed her face, sending shivers up her spine. Slowly, he kissed her again, the gentle pressure turning into something more, deepening until he was feeding from her lips. They sat, lost in each other as the moon traversed the sky. When she felt where they were heading, she backed away slightly, giving him time to say no.

He struggled with his desire and she saw him fight to control it, making her perversely pleased that he was having difficulty with it all.

“We will need to head to Denerim, to find Brother Genetivi. We should probably go there next.” She tried to inject lightness into her tone, hiding her own need for his touch.

“I agree. I was hoping that we could look someone up for me as well.” He watched her emotions run across her face, it was obvious to him that she was worried he wanted to see an old love. “Before you get the wrong idea, it isn’t THAT kind of someone. I have a sister… well, a half-sister. You know how I told you that my mother was a serving girl in the castle, she has a daughter, Goldanna. She lives in Denerim and I was hoping that maybe we could make time to go see her.”

“We could make the time certainly, Alistair. I am sure that we can take care of the Brother Genetivi issue while you go to see her. You don’t need any of us hanging about you when you see family.” She smiled brightly, grateful that it wasn’t a former lover.

“I was hoping you would come with me, actually.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his tone pleading.

She narrowed her eyes as she considered his request and came to the conclusion that he wasn’t telling her everything.

“Alistair? Have you even tried to contact her since Ostagar?”

“I’m not even sure that she knows that I exist. I don’t know if anyone ever told her about me. I was just hoping…” His voice trailed off. “Never mind, it is a stupid idea.”

“If you would like to go see her, and want me to come along, I would be happy to help you however I can.”

“Really? You would do that, for me?” His tone was bright and excited.

“Of course, Alistair. I would do anything for you. I thought you knew that.” She smiled at him and then leaned in and kissed his cheek. She looked out over the dark lake and thought of the hot kisses they had shared in the water, and blushed. She hadn’t lied, she would do anything he asked, just because it was him. The sky had begun to lighten in the distance. Alistair followed her line of sight and pulled her into the shelter of his body.

“Sleep against me, Izzy. Get some rest, and we will start on our journey tomorrow.” As she settled against him, he kissed the top of her head. She tried to will her eyes to stay open but they slid shut, and she slept safely in his arms.


	37. Rocky Road to Denerim

A Dalish Courier came into camp with news of the darkspawn horde. Alistair looked concerned and decided that it should be checked out. He’d been quiet since the previous night, but wouldn’t talk to Isabeaux about it. Every time he looked at her, he seemed to be feeling guilty about something. Isabeaux figured that it was the conversation that Wynne had with her, and probably him as well. 

Isabeaux thought that perhaps they would be better served by separating for a bit. Alistair and the bulk of the companions would go check out the rumors of the horde. Isabeaux, Roland, Wynne and Reaper would check out the requests for help that were picked up on the Chantry board in Redcliffe. They agreed to meet up in Denerim within the week, if possible. Regardless, news was to be sent to the Denerim Chantry if a group was going to be late or there was trouble. Alistair didn’t seem happy with the plan, even though his supposed main rival was traveling with him. He pulled Isabeaux aside to have a short conversation before they parted ways. 

“Are you sure about this?” He held her hand, but she could tell his mind was already on the path ahead. She nodded, her voice taking a bit of time to catch up.

“We have agreed to take on the jobs, but we need to know what the horde is doing. We really don’t have another choice. We have to split up.” She attempted to sound all business and was failing horribly. She didn’t want the time apart, she’d seen what it had done to her and Cullen.

“I know… but… why take Roland? Sten is a better fighter.” She smiled a bit at the tone of jealousy. Roland was just a friend, he’d said as much to both her and Alistair.

“That is why you will need Sten. I’ll take Wynne… just in case. You have the majority of the health potions. It will be fine. Nothing will happen to any of us. Just… take care of yourself okay?” She started to turn away, not pushing him for affection, when he pulled her in one last time.

“You stay safe, or you’ll hear from me.” He pulled her in for a sweet kiss goodbye. As he backed away slowly, he kept her eyes on hers, not letting her look away. He touched her face tenderly and then grabbed his pack, barking orders at the others. Wynne and Roland looked on amused with his actions. Zevran walked over to Isabeaux, much to Alistair’s frustration and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“He will be fine. I’ll watch his back for you, sweet, dear, warden.” Then Zevran leaned in and kissed her just under her ear; his tongue flicked out and licked wickedly. She rolled her eyes but smiled at the antics and then shooed them away. Looking at the drastically reduced group, she shouldered her own pack and looked forward to being able to meet up with Bodhan Feddic in Denerim.

Roland walked up to her and smiled.

“I’m honored that you chose me to join you. He’s still watching you.” He said both in such a conversational tone, she almost missed the last. Isabeaux looked up into Roland’s eyes first to see if he were joking and then over to the departing group. Alistair’s eyes were still on hers. She raised her hand in farewell and smiled at her fellow warden. The smile he returned was sad and filled with questions, but finally he turned and led his group away.

“So.” She pulled out her map and looked at the spots marked. “Do either of you have a preference of where we go first?”

Wynne touched her shoulder. “I am glad that you two have decided to take my words to heart. I know it hurts now, but…” The older woman’s words died in her throat at the look she received from Isabeaux.

“We aren’t discussing that again, now or ever. What we are discussing, is where we are going first.” Isabeaux snarled. She was tired of being told what she could and couldn’t do; who she should or shouldn’t love. Isabeaux narrowed her eyes at the older mage, who busied herself looking at the map. Roland’s eyes widened and looked questioningly at Isabeaux.

“We can either check on the caravan or the missing company. Roland, do you have a preference?” 

Roland touched her hand and drew her eyes up to his. He’d been nothing but a friend and now, he was asking questions. She couldn’t talk about it though, and shook her head.

“Why don’t we check the refugees first then.” Roland stepped into the role of adviser easily. They won’t be armed and might be experiencing some trouble. She nodded her agreement, checked the map again and then folded it up and put in her pack. She hardly looked at her companions as she headed down the road, keeping her eyes open for trouble.

 

The darkspawn were everywhere in the clearing. There were about six refugees still alive. Isabeaux told Wynne to get the survivors together, healed and if possible to safety. She saw Roland pull his sword and prepare for the onslaught. Isabeaux started throwing spell after spell, trying to aid both Roland and Reaper as they attacked and still take down the spawn nearest her. Isabeaux was surprised at how dependent on Alistair’s skill in battle she had become. Her energy was flagging as she saw a spawn try to rip into the Mabari hound. She blasted the spawn and then healed the dog, but that act used the last of her magic. She was still healing from the energy she’d expended in the ruins and had nothing left. 

She grabbed the two daggers that Duncan had given her when she first left the tower. She got close to her still healing hound and used the daggers to slash at any spawn that got close. Seeing an opening, she managed to shoo Reaper away to freedom. Isabeaux then turned inward seeking more power to turn against the spawn. They were encroaching on her. Finding nothing, she cut and slashed at the creatures, beginning to despair of surviving. From a distance she heard an angry cry, she didn’t have a chance to look up as a hurlock came rushing her with a battleaxe. There was a slash and the creatures head flew off. Isabeaux was breathing hard but struggled on, helping to finish the last of the spawn.

When the field was cleared, Roland helped Isabeaux up. She could tell by his face that he wasn’t happy.

“Now that we have some time, perhaps we should use it to work on your fighting technique.” Isabeaux was shocked at his words, she had almost died and he was worried about her technique? It was such a change from Alistair’s more solicitous manner that she could only gape at the knight.

“I’m a mage. Isn’t that a knight’s job?” She spat the words out, in pain from multiple cuts and fatigue. Her tone matched his. He grabbed the mage and shook her hard.

“To the void with that, I don’t want to be the one to watch you fall on the battlefield. Isabeaux you are far too important, to everyone… to…” He sputtered and looked hard at her. “Now, let’s eat a little something and rest then you and I are going to fix your form and footwork. We get the basics down, we can move on to something more challenging. I know that you aren’t going to become a warrior overnight, so put that out of your mind. Magic is your primary weapon, but if you find that you cannot cast and you cannot run then you have to be able to fight.” 

Roland picked up the sword that he’d tossed aside to shake her. He glared at her once and then stalked over to Wynne who had been out of range of the fight. The refugees had been rescued, so the small group had a reason to celebrate. After eating, and letting Wynne tend to the last of the wounds, Roland drug Isabeaux across the field to practice. He would attack and then spend time fixing her stance. Over and over he would do this, praising her when she got it right, or doggedly fixing the problem. 

After hours of working together, he finally called the end to the practice. Isabeaux collapsed in a heap and glared at him.

“Isabeaux? We can’t have you over-extending yourself every time you reach the end of your magic. The incident at the ruins wasn’t the first and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Please, if you won’t be kind to yourself, at least do the rest of us a favor and try to let us help.” He held out a hand to help her up, but pulled to hard and she collapsed into his arms. She looked up at him and began to apologize, for worrying him. Roland merely looked surprised and then leaned in and kissed her, gently.

His touch was so different than Alistair’s, more confident, less protective. Roland didn’t touch tentatively, instead he took control. His mouth played over hers and she could feel her body starting to respond. Isabeaux stepped back, her eyes were wide and she covered her mouth with her hand. She narrowed her eyes and tried to glare, but she couldn’t. The kiss was as much her fault as his. He didn’t look sorry though, he held out his hand and then pulled her back in. When she didn’t resist, he kissed her again.

“He doesn’t see you like I do.” He looked her in the eye as he spoke, his voice rough with surprise and desire. She couldn’t speak, still stunned that he had kissed her twice. “Just think about it, alright?”

“What about Morrigan?” Isabeaux’s voice was just above a whisper. She had difficulty looking at him.

“She ended it.” His voice was matter of fact and he reached, taking Isabeaux’s hand. He kissed her fingers slowly, forcing her gaze back up to his. “She and I weren’t… right for each other.”

He tucked her hand into his elbow and walked back to where Wynne had made camp. The older mage took in the two of them and smiled warmly. Near the fire, she moved away from Roland and stared at her hands. Isabeaux ate silently while Wynne and Roland chatted. Reaper snuggled up next to Isabeaux and she fed the dog surreptitiously, sure that either human companion would chastise her for either denying herself or pampering the hound.

They drew lots to see who would get which watch. Wynne got the second watch, and Isabeaux pulled first, so the older mage settled down near the fire and fell asleep quickly. Isabeaux looked nervously at Roland.

“Shouldn’t you sleep as well?” Her voice trembling a bit as she spoke. He smiled blandly at her before answering.

“I’m not tired.” He looked at the fire for a minute before returning his gaze to her. “I thought we might… talk.” She nodded her acquiescence, but sat mutely looking at the fire. It had never been this difficult to talk to Alistair, she mused. Roland broke into her reverie, “Am I that repulsive?” 

“Shards, no!” His question had shocked her into responding. “It’s just… why now? What changed?”

“I have always found you attractive, but I couldn’t just blurt it out. You were distraught over your templar friend, and needed a shoulder to cry on. Then… well, then there was Alistair. I thought, by the way he was acting, he’d at least make public claim to you, but he never really did. Then, in the ruins, the three of us had a… talk.” Roland at least had the grace to blush slightly. He was obviously aware of her feelings for Alistair, but there was something underneath it all, that had Alistair running away and Roland running right at her.

“The argument that woke me up, that was about me, wasn’t it?” She shouldn’t have been surprised, she knew something had changed between her and Alistair, he’d been solicitous about her feelings, but separated from them as well. Roland watched as she digested the bit of information.

“Wynne talked to him too, it seems, she reminded him of his duty, not just as a Grey Warden, but as a potential king. He might not like the idea of ruling Ferelden, but he might not have much of a choice either. He hadn’t considered all of the ramifications of what being king might be, especially for you. He would have to be strong in his convictions, forcing them to see that he made his choice and it was you. The two of you would be under constant scrutiny and pressure. Zevran pointed out that the other option of relationship between you and him would be as king and mistress. Alistair was affronted and Zevran pointed out that it would also kill the love between you because he would have to marry someone else.” Roland paused, hating that he had to do this to her. She sat impassively looking at the fire, refusing to let her heart get even more bruised. She had thought of all these things after Wynne had talked to her, and her heart still ached with the truth of it all. “You deserve a man who can love you, forever. One who puts you and your needs first but still treats you like an equal. That’s when the original plan to separate the group came about. One was to go take care of one task while the other went another route. We didn’t plan to be able to track the horde." 

“So… you planned all of this. He was a part of this agreement. He knew last night and didn’t tell me… none of you did. Who else was in on this?” 

“Just… me, Alistair, and Zevran. I am attracted to you Isabeaux. Don’t doubt that. I have wanted to kiss you, for so long.” He moved closer and took her hand, forcing her to look at him. He leaned in closer, his lips almost touching hers. “I still do.”

The kiss was gentler this time, kinder. Roland tried to show his feelings instead of just speaking and she opened to him. Her hand skimmed along his face, stirring his desire and the kiss deepened. Knowing that she was still fragile after the day’s battle and his admission, Roland backed away. He touched her face, sliding the backs of his fingers along her jaw and brushing her hair up and over her ear, tickling the point. 

“You are so beautiful Isabeaux.” He kissed the fragile shell of her outer ear, lightly licking along the pointed edge. She blushed and pulled away, but he hooked his finger under her chin, pulling her face toward him and brushing his lips once more against hers. “I’ll take first watch, you sleep. I’ll be here if the nightmares come. I’ll keep you safe.” 

Isabeaux knew that Roland meant every word and settled down on her bedroll. She prayed that neither her nightmares, nor Alistair’s would plague them too badly. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue and she slipped quickly into a dreamless sleep.


	38. Best Laid Plans

She woke up disoriented, with unfamiliar arms wrapped around her. Isabeaux shifted as she woke and tried to pull away but the arms around her middle pulled her in tighter. She looked over her shoulder and saw Roland, his eyes were still closed. 

“Roland? Wake up.” She said it softly so that she wouldn’t shock him awake. He moaned and loosened his hold, but didn’t release her. Isabeaux elbowed him, but hit armor and hurt her arm. “Roland.” She used a louder more stern voice, still trying not to draw Wynne’s attention.

“Isabeaux, it’s barely dawn. Go back to sleep. Please.” His voice was sleepy and pleading. He snuggled into her as much as their armor would allow, and placed a sleepy kiss behind her ear. She tried to roll but ended up face to face with him. Deciding that words weren’t working, she placed a kiss gently against his lips, his eyes slitted open as he returned it. She threaded her fingers in his auburn hair and held him tightly against her. He moaned and shifted his hips against hers. She smiled at the early morning moan and moved her lips across his cheek near his ear. Knowing he was awake, she spoke again.

“Roland, please. I need to get up.” She pushed lightly at his chest and he rose, looking sleepy and rumpled. “We have a busy day, so you can sleep for a little bit longer, but not much.”

He touched one of the loose strands of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. 

“I won’t be able to get back to sleep after that kiss. It was an enjoyable way to wake up though. Can we try it again sometime?” He reached for her, but she scooted out of reach. She tried for flirtatious and noncommittal.

“Maybe.” She smiled as she said it though. She missed Alistair and wished he were there to make his horrible food and stare at her until she had nibbled and gagged on it. She slipped out of the tent and Wynne gave her a knowing look and smile. Isabeaux couldn’t return it, she still felt miserable hearing Wynne’s helpful advice. Advice that had made Alistair run. Isabeaux rolled her eyes and started to make something to eat.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Wynne sounded so solicitous. 

“No, I wouldn’t Wynne. Haven’t you helped me enough?” Isabeaux glared at the older mage.

“I was just trying to save you heartache in the end.” 

“Wynne. The end will come whether I plan for it or no. Instead of saving me heartache you hastened it. So, if you were hoping for a thank you… you will just have to wait for it.” Isabeaux kept her voice as even as possible. “We shouldn’t have even split up. There was no need for it. Instead, Alistair is off possibly engaging the darkspawn horde and if we lose him… then it will just be me against an archdemon. Did you happen to think of that when dispensing your advice?” Isabeaux grabbed some bread and walked away from the fire. Roland came out of the tent they had shared and watched her leave.

“What happened?” Roland’s question was loud enough for her to hear, but she walked fast enough to miss the answer. 

By midday they had reached the remains of the East Company. They had been dead for days, so the one day they had spent helping the refugees wouldn’t have mattered much. They fought wolves that had come to feed on the carrion left behind and when they were certain that there would be no more attacks, they checked the bodies for letters and documents to pass along to the chantry and families. They set up camp, still tired from the fight the day before and Roland then spent time trying to teach Isabeaux more swordplay. She kept her balance, not allowing him any reason to pull her up or into his embrace. That dance, in and of itself, was tiring. She wondered what she would have done if it had been Alistair teaching her. Knowing the answer, she blushed.

“What? Is something wrong?” Roland had noticed the change in her focus.

“No. It’s just… I’m hot and sticky and covered in Maker knows what. I want a bath. Do you mind? I don’t want to be too far from camp when full dark sets in.”

There was a lake nearby and being unable to resist getting clean, Isabeaux took advantage of the setting sun to bathe. Roland walked nearby, more to patrol than to observe. Smiling wickedly, Isabeaux splashed some water at him.

“Hey!” He looked incredulously at her. 

“What? Are you afraid of a little water?” She smiled wickedly. He’d been trying to flirt with her all day but she had ignored him in favor of figuring out the plan the men had put into place. They wanted to play with her affections to test her. She could almost laugh. The templars had been playing at that game with the mages long before these men knew the rules. Well, Zevran might have been born knowing the rules and if he were in Roland’s place she would have been in trouble. She smiled again and bobbed in the water. The thin chemise she wore almost invisible. Roland’s mouth dropped open a bit.

“I… I don’t know… if… that would be a good idea.” He was beginning to stutter. 

“Come in and join me,” she purred. “You wanted to show me how attractive you found me.” She bobbed up in the water again and let his imagination run. He scrubbed the back of his neck, and tried to form words. 

“I think I’ll… um… wait until you are done.” His voice broke twice while he spoke. 

“As you wish.” She turned and sank under the water, scrubbing her skin and hair as clean as she could. When she resurfaced, Roland was still nearby, but patently not looking at her. She allowed herself to float for a bit before swimming to shore. He had looked away as she left the water but it was apparent that he knew exactly where she was. She used a touch of magic to dry herself and dressed quickly. Once that was done, she strode over to Roland and ran slightly damp fingers across the back of her neck as she walked by. He looked down at her and blushed.

“You should have joined me, and shown me exactly how beautiful you think I am.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Or… not. I appreciate you being a gentleman, but…” She let the words hang and watched him try to shift himself without appearing to. She leaned up into him, pressing her body against him, then laid her lips tenderly against his. Roland’s hand shot into her still damp hair and changed the kiss from a gentle meeting of lips to hard possession. She put a hand on his chest and pushed him gently but firmly away. “I need food, and time to think. I’m going to take second shift tonight. You or Wynne can decide on first.”

Her hips swayed seductively as she walked away. Isabeaux looked back once and grinned as she saw Roland’s eyes glued to her backside. She liked him well enough, and if she and Alistair weren’t to be, then at least he would be a pleasant diversion.

They had at least one more day of travel before they got to Denerim. Bodhan should be either at the city outskirts or within its walls. She would check in with him before finding a room at an inn.


	39. What's Done is Done

Isabeaux walked into Denerim, happy to have arrived. She had seen Bodhan, sold some things that she’d been carrying around and then walked into the city, bold as you please. One or two people gave her an odd look, but she ignored most of them. Instead, she walked directly to the Chantry and dropped off the assistance requests and collected the bounties. Roland and Wynne trailed behind her. Then Isabeaux checked to see if anyone had left any messages for her or her companions. Instead of leaving a note immediately, she walked to the Gnawed Noble Tavern.

She smiled at the innkeeper and asked for three rooms. He started to tell her nothing was available, when she placed both her staff and pouch of gold on the counter; when man looked at both, his eyes widened. 

“There are more of my companions on the way. Three rooms should be sufficient for now, if they are available. We will share as needed.” Her voice was filled with authority and the man struggled to obey quickly. 

“Of course, we have a few rooms left. You only need three?” He looked at the coin purse hopefully.

“If you have one or two more available beyond the three necessary, perhaps when the rest of my companions come we will be able to rent them as well. Until they have arrived, the three will be plenty.” She smiled at the innkeeper and he smiled back at her. They came to an agreement and she went up to the rooms. She chose the smallest of them for herself, as she was not going to share it, then asked Roland to deliver a letter to the Chantry telling Alistair where they could be found. She then shut her door and stretched out on the bed. It was the first time in days that she could sleep without worrying about doing watch. 

The nightmare came quick and hard, putting her on a battlefield covered in blood. She was reveling in the violence, throwing spells at the enemy and pushing herself beyond her own limits. She could hear the archdemon singing to her again, tempting her with more power, more stamina… simply more. “To achieve this”, the creature said, “you just need to kill the other warden.” When Isabeaux did not immediately agree she was filled with excruciating pain. Isabeaux’s body bowed unnaturally and the muscles on her neck stood out like cords. “See how quickly that he turns on you?” The voice stroked over her, soothing the pain and she saw Alistair coming at her, his sword at the ready. She stood her ground and waited. The dream Alistair faded before he could reach her. “You have so much potential. Why waste it on such a fool’s errand. Join me, because you cannot defeat me.”

Isabeaux could hear a faint knocking far away and pushed herself closer to the sound. She forced her eyes open and the knocking was louder. Embarrassed that she might have woken other patrons, she shuffled to the door. Isabeaux unlocked the door and cracked it open. An armored hand shot through and Isabeaux was at the ready to repel the intruder. The door pushed open and on the other side was Alistair. He looked relieved to see her, and pulled her into an embrace. 

Isabeaux stiffened in his arms, unsure of what to do.

“Izzy? What’s wrong? We got the message and ran over. Sten is staying outside the city. The other ladies are staying in one room, and the men in the other. Are you… alone?” His questions and words came rapid fire, disorienting her after the nightmare. She shook her head to clear it, but Alistair took it wrong.

“Who’s staying here with you?” Alistair’s eyes were narrowed as he surveyed the small room.

“No one else is staying here Alistair. I took the smallest room so that I could have it to myself. I hope you don’t mind. The innkeeper said he had other rooms, if you need one to yourself.” She kept her tone neutral as she spoke. His worry obvious, Alistair walked into the room, oblivious to the position that he was putting both of them in. 

“What’s wrong, Izzy? I thought…” His voice trailed off as he looked into her eyes.

“Roland told me of your plan. Did it work?” She hurt, everywhere and wanted to blame him. It wasn’t fair, but she wanted to anyway.

“Roland… told you… Isabeaux, I know that it sounds horrible. It was. I…” He started to explain but she held up her hand.

“You should have told me what was going on in your head. I shouldn’t have heard about it from Roland, or anyone else.” She kept her voice low and even.

“You were hurting so bad Isabeaux. I didn’t want to add to it.” He walked forward to touch her. He’d missed her, she could see it in his face, but she didn’t know what he actually missed, the companionship or relationship that they had been building toward. He moved in to kiss her lips, but she turned her head and he kissed her cheek instead. “I am so sorry Isabeaux.”

She wanted to throw herself in his arms and be comforted, but instead she looked at him steadily. She touched his cheek softly and then looked out the window. “Have you made plans to go see your sister yet?”

“No.” Her eyes flicked over to him as he answered and she could see pain there. “Are you still going with me?”

“Do you want me to go?” She couldn’t even meet his eyes anymore. He tucked his fingers under her chin and lifted it up, forcing her eyes to meet his. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly, working her mouth until she opened to him. He slipped his tongue between her lips to taste her and moaned softly. She couldn’t resist him; she’d never be able to.

“Yes, I want you with me, the past days were horrible. Have I mentioned that I hate Morrigan? She criticized everything we did. I think even Leliana was tired of her near the end.” He tried to get her to smile but she couldn’t quite do it.

“When did you want to go then? I’d like to spend as little time as possible here. I feel… vulnerable.” She tried to look away,but he wouldn’t let her. 

“Tomorrow soon enough? I’d like to rest in a bed for a night. If you are done with yours…” He grinned at her, trying to get them on more even ground.

“Sure… I can bunk with Zevran and Roland. That would make for an interesting evening.” She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled evilly reminding him that she knew that the men had discussed her and Alistair.

“No. It.. It’s alright. I’ll bunk with them. I’m sorry Isabeaux.” He touched her face and she relented.

“I’m sorry too.” She kissed his cheek and backed away.

“Can we begin again?” His voice was soft and filled with pain. She sat on the edge of the bed and tapped it twice. He noticed and sat next to her.

“You have to figure out whatever it is that made you run. When you have that straightened, then… we’ll see.”

“Fair enough. Isabeaux… I…” She wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say and stopped his words with a gentle kiss.

“Not yet, Alistair. Get some sleep and we’ll find Genitivi and your sister. Then we can get out of this city. It almost makes me itch being here.”

“Weren’t you born here?” Alistair was stalling but she didn’t mind.

“Yes, but I haven’t been here since I was a child. I wonder if my father still lives here.” It was more musing than anything else.

“Oh? Where would he…” His voice trailed off as he realized what he was going to say. She shrugged and smiled at him.

“If he still lived here, he would be in the Alienage. There is no need to be embarrassed. I’m not. It’s where the elves live here.” She started to get up, but he took his hand in hers.

“Did you want to go see him?” Alistair asked hopefully. Isabeaux was stunned, she hadn’t thought about even trying to see him. She looked into Alistair’s face, her surprise apparent. He couldn’t help but ask, “what?” 

“I don’t know, I never thought about it. I never thought about seeing him again. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.” She sounded uncertain and Alistair took her hand in his.

“I would like to go with you if you don’t mind.” He kissed her fingers and tried to make her smile.

“You… want to go into the Alienage? On purpose? Humans don’t go to the Alienage unless they have to. I know I’ve heard it often enough.” She smiled slightly at him.

“I want to go… with you. I’d like to meet your family.” She looked at him for a moment or two, trying to come to a decision. 

“Okay, Alistair, and if you want, you can stay here tonight.”

He smiled at her until she tossed a pillow at him and pointed to the floor.

“You can sleep on the floor.” She smiled as he looked at her. Then she grabbed one of the extra blankets and laid it out on a clean space. She pushed him lightly off the bed and lay down. “Sleep well Alistair.”

He leaned in and kissed her, nibbling at her lips.

“Sweet dreams Isabeaux.” He groaned as he tried to make himself comfortable on the floor. 

 

He woke before her, for once. He sat on the floor and watched her for a few minutes. Some of her hair had fallen across her face. Alistair moved slowly and brushed it aside, tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes fluttered open and smiled as she saw him. His hand curled against her cheek. 

“Good morning Alistair.” 

“Are you aware of how beautiful you look in the morning?” Isabeaux tried to determine if Alistair was joking or not, and couldn’t, so she took the comment at face value.

“Thank you. You are quite handsome yourself?” Her voice lifted in question, unsure of what response he expected. He chuckled and leaned in, pressing his lips against hers.

“I missed that. I missed being able to kiss you.” His sweet admission made her blush and she sat up. To save her sanity, she had slept in her armor and was regretting it. Isabeaux looked out the window in astonishment. The sun was well up, she had overslept. Panicking slightly, she rushed to the wash basin and splashed cold water on her face. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” Angry at herself, the words came out sharper than she intended. If he heard the tone, he ignored it.

“You were tired and needed the sleep. I brought up breakfast. When you are done, we can go see Genitivi, but before that, I need to step out for a bit. How about we meet back here in an hour and a half? That way you can do whatever women do and then we can get our errands done. Is that alright?”

She looked at him in the mirror and then nodded. Alistair grinned and stepped up behind her, leaning in slightly to kiss her neck.

“See you in an hour and a half then.” Alistair’s voice was bright as he opened the door and slipped out. Wynne was in the hall, about to knock on Isabeaux’s door and was surprised to see him leave. “Good morning Wynne. Did you need Isabeaux… or me?”

Isabeaux looked out and rolled her eyes, wondering what the lecture would be this time. Wynne stood there looking shocked at the situation. Isabeaux just left the door open and tried to repair her hair and face. She realized at that moment, she would be meeting Alistair’s sister. When Wynne walked in, Isabeaux smiled and tried to excuse herself.

“Wait a minute. What went on here?” Wynne’s voice was hushed.

“Um… Alistair insisted on sleeping on the floor, afraid for his virtue around Zevran and he brought me breakfast, although I’m really not hungry, because Alistair wants to go to the Alienage to meet my father.” Isabeaux blurted it all out as she thought it, becoming more uneasy about going to the Alienage. “I will need something nice to wear; I want to make my father proud.”

Leliana poked her head in. “Are we to go shopping? I mean, after all we are in Denerim, we should go.”

Isabeaux had missed Leliana’s good humor. “Do you mind taking me? I only have an hour and a half and part of that will need to be taken up with getting ready.” 

Leliana grabbed Isabeaux by the arm and hauled her past Wynne. “We have no time to lose then.”

 

An hour later, Isabeaux had paid the innkeeper for another night of rooms, per Leliana’s request. They had flown through the stores, looking for just the right outfit for the mage warden. Soon, Isabeaux was trussed up in a ready-made dress of a soft blue that came to mid-calf. Delicate slippers of a matching shade graced her feet. Leliana had bought a similar pair in a darker color and wanted to go dancing that evening to show them off, necessitating another night in the inn. Leliana had then spent twenty minutes fussing with Isabeaux’s hair, to make it presentable. Wynne came in and slipped a black ribbon around Isabeaux’s throat with a simple sapphire pendant on it. The two women gushed over her looks, although Wynne didn’t look happy at the chain of events. Unbeknown to either woman, Isabeaux had managed to purchase one more thing, a gift for Alistair. She hoped that she would have the courage to give the amulet to him, but when she had seen it, she knew he needed it. 

Five minutes after Leliana had declared her ready to go, Alistair had come back to the room. He stared at Isabeaux in amazement, until she blushed and looked away.

“You are a vision.” He took both her hands in his and kissed them. “You look far to fine too be visiting family and a scholar.”

“I wanted to look nice… for my father… for… you.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“You did this for me? Isabeaux… I… I don’t know what to say.” Her lips were lightly glossed and he didn’t want to mess her up, so he kissed her cheek instead. “You are beautiful.”

“We should go. Genitivi first.” Alistair nodded. When Zevran and Roland found out about their destination, they insisted on joining the Wardens.


	40. Confrontations for All

“Where are we going again?” Isabeaux whispered to Zevran. He smiled wickedly and gave her the same answer as before.

“The Pearl my Grey Warden.” This time he took her hand and kissed the back of it. Roland and Alistair were walking ahead; the latter had his head hanging down. The visit to his sister had not gone according to plan, but then very little had that day.

“And… we are going there as opposed to the Gnawed Noble Tavern, why?” Isabeaux didn’t like the feeling she was getting in the pit of her stomach, as if she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Our good friend Alistair needs to let off some steam after a trying day, as do you, and there are inhibiting factors at the Gnawed Noble. So, Roland and I thought that it would be best to let our hair down somewhere away from censure.” Zevran smiled.

“What kind of tavern is the Pearl?” Isabeaux raised her brow and looked at Zevran.

“It’s not a tavern so much, as a brothel.” Zevran smiled. “Do not worry, my sweet. I will not allow them to trade on your services.” He chuckled as she glared at him.

“You could at least have allowed me to change my clothing.” Isabeaux muttered. She was rewarded with a small kiss on her cheek as Zevran pulled her along. 

“If we had allowed that, then you would have changed into your armor, and you look so lovely right now. Why don’t you and I allow Alistair and Roland to continue on their way and I can show you how an Antivan appreciates a beautiful woman.” His hand slipped around her waist as they walked, and laughed as she rolled her eyes again. Isabeaux had to admit that after the day they had, Zevran was making the prospect of watching two grown men fumble for words around paid women entertaining.

They had gone to Brother Genitivi’s home, to find he wasn’t there. His assistant was, and told them that the last known location was Lake Calenhad. Isabeaux was fairly certain that he was lying about something, but she didn’t want to cause a fuss. She was all too aware that as an elf, a mage and a warden, she couldn’t afford the scrutiny. She had promised Leliana one night free of the worries of the world, right here in Denerim, and she would keep that promise, if she could.

Then, in an attempt to put off seeing his sister, Alistair suggested trying to go to the Alienage to see Isabeaux’s father. They were stopped at the gate and informed that it was under lockdown after the purge caused by riots that had killed Arl Urien’s son. Isabeaux vaguely remembered Arl Urien. He had taken great joy in seeing elves abused and had laughed at the pain in her face as she was taken away, but a purge was something all elves feared. She told the guard that she belonged behind the gate, and he offered to help her… if she did a little something for him. All three men were outraged at the guard’s behavior. He was, however, a private guard in the employ of the new Arl of Denerim. When they took her away, she was shaken and worried. If her father had survived the purge, there was a good chance he was wounded and needed medical care. 

“It’ll be all right, Isabeaux. He will be all right. You’ll see.” Alistair had pulled her into his side and offered her comfort. She couldn’t explain to him that it was more of a vague worry for a memory than an immediate fear of a well known friend or family member.

Finally, they had gone to Alistair’s sister Goldanna’s house. Isabeaux could only send a prayer of thanks to the Maker that Alistair was nothing like the shrieking, grasping, greedy, rude harridan. Instead of being even moderately polite, she immediately tried to get him to pay for a lifestyle that not even Alistair lived. All he wanted was a family that loved him, for him. All Goldanna wanted was money. When Isabeaux had spoken up, something she regretted horribly, the woman immediately assumed that she was a servant or worse. Only Alistair’s hand on her shoulder prevented Isabeaux from teaching the harridan a lesson. Alistair has asked if he could give Goldanna fifteen sovereigns. Isabeaux didn’t care, it was as much his money as hers, they’d both earned a portion of it, and if it made him feel better, then we was welcome to it. The woman didn’t want the paltry sum, or so she called it. Isabeaux had had enough and suggested to Alistair that they leave. Alistair looked as if he’d been whipped, and Isabeaux felt her heart twist at his pain.

Outside, she pulled him in for a hug, giving him the comfort he so obviously needed. He wasn’t ready to talk about it though, and Isabeaux wasn’t sure that she could say anything nice about the visit. They were about to go back to the tavern when Zevran suggested the Pearl, and that they all go. Alistair turned bright pink, as did Roland at the suggestion, but they said nothing to Isabeaux about it. Zevran had slipped his hand through her arm and pulled her along.

Alistair looked back worriedly at her but she wasn’t sure why. Finally, pulling away from Roland, he dropped back and took her from Zevran’s grip.

“You don’t have to come along. I can take you back to the tavern and inn.” He had pulled her close, something was going on in his mind, but Alistair wasn’t ready to share it with her yet.

“I’ve never been to a brothel before,” Isabeaux said brightly. “As long as I neither have to participate nor watch, I’m fine with it.”

“I don’t know that it would be a proper place for you to… be.” Alistair was thinking of something and it irked her that he wouldn’t speak his mind.

“Alistair? Have you been there before?” She tilted her head to the side to look at him as they walked. 

“Yes.” The admission made him blush.

“But you haven’t participated?” 

“No. I haven’t.” If possible, Alistair’s face got more red.

“Then why shouldn’t I go, if I’m not going to participate? Will I be marked in some way? Will you think less of me?” She wondered what was bugging him.

“No, I won’t think less of you.” He grinned.

They had reached the doors of the Pearl and it didn’t look all that intimidating to Isabeaux. They walked in and while most of the patrons were male, she saw some women there too. Isabeaux allowed the men to lead her to a quiet table, Zevran left to get the drinks but Roland and Alistair spent their time focused on Isabeaux. She, however, was watching a woman dispatch five men by herself. The grace and fluidity of movement made Isabeaux smile. Within in moments, Zevran was back with four ales and she let the talk flow over her, almost missing Alistair try to start a conversation with Roland.

“So, how was your journey to Denerim? I see that you all got here in one piece. Anything interesting happen?” Alistair’s question was innocently asked but it caused Roland to almost lose his ale.

“Why would anything happen?” Roland spoke quickly, as Isabeaux looked between the men.

“Per your plans, Roland kissed me. He’s not bad.” Isabeaux said it in a detached way, as if she were discussing the weather. Zevran laughed, Roland blushed and Alistair looked cross. Isabeaux looked between the three of them and added wickedly, “isn’t that was you wanted him to do?” All three men sputtered. Seeing that the men would be useless, she walked over to the woman who had been dueling and asked if she would be willing to teach a mage. They bantered and bartered and after a game of wicked grace, the woman, Isabela, agreed. Isabeaux sauntered over to the men and grinned. “Isabela is going to take me to one of the back rooms to show me the finer points of dueling. You will be alright here without me?”

Zevran’s eyes lit up, knowing this game well. Isabela had pointed out that she knew Zevran and was interested in a little time with him. Isabeaux had no problem with that, but she would like a short lesson first. The two of them walked back into a room and after about twenty minutes, Isabeaux returned, sans Isabela.

“Where is your new friend?” Alistair sniped.

“She’s in the room where I left her. She explained the finer points of blade manipulation and I left. It’s all I wanted anyway. She, however, would like Zevran to herself for a while. I assume it’s not for the same kind of blade manipulation.” Isabeaux smiled sweetly at all three men, their jaws dropping. 

“I shouldn’t keep Isabela waiting then, if it is all right with you, my warden.” Zevran made a courtly bow and took his leave, slipping into the darkened rooms in the back. 

Isabeaux sat demurely between Roland and Alistair, both looking at her silently, speculatively. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the two men, a slight grin on her face.

“What? She’s a duelist. Both of you have told me I need to spend more time working with my daggers, she gave me some pointers. Really, that is all. Did you think that I…?” Her head swung back and forth between the men as their faces grew more heated with their blushing. Isabeaux stood up and moved to sit in Alistair’s lap, acting as boldly as she dared. When he looked into her eyes, she leaned in and kissed him hotly. His mouth parted instantly and their tongues tangled. She slid her mouth off of his, across his cheek and to his ear. “Soon.” Her whisper thrummed through his body. Then she twisted around, grinding her rear against his groin, causing Alistair to moan and Isabeaux faced Roland. She smiled wickedly at him and reached across the table to stroke the side of his face.

“What do you two men say to the three of us getting a room.” She said it softly, playfully with just enough bite to show both men that they had started something they had no chance of finishing.

Their mouths dropped open and their eyes bugged. They looked at each other then to her, back and forth; unsure if she were kidding or serious. Neither one moved. Isabeaux slid off Alistair’s lap and placed a simple, gentle, friendly kiss on his cheek then walked to Roland’s side and kissed him the same way. She took two steps back and eyed both men, still sitting stunned, glued to their chairs. 

“I thought not. Give my best to Zevran. See you back at the Inn. We leave early.” She had chuckled at the look on their faces and tossed the last few lines to let them know that they didn’t have to follow her, but to be ready to leave when she was. She had almost made it to the door when Alistair caught up to her.

“That was cruel.” His eyes were narrowed and his mouth a taut line.

“So was what you did to me. Alistair, I’m sorry your sister hurt you. I’m sorry that Wynne made you doubt, but I’m not the one who can fix it. You need to stop letting everyone else make decisions for you and take a stand and think about yourself, and what would make you happy.” Isabeaux sighed, sure that she had broken what they had. “I love you. I would do almost anything for you. You should know that Alistair. You are the one bright spot out of everything else that has happened. You should know that.” When he didn’t respond, she smiled and touched his cheek. He closed his eyes and turned his face into her hand, kissing the palm lightly. 

“Can we go somewhere, and just talk?” Alistair’s voice was hushed.

“If you like.” Isabeaux smiled. He took the hand on his cheek and kissed it again.

“I’m going to hold you to your promise Isabeaux.” His voice was rough and strained. When she looked up into his face, he pulled her in and claimed her mouth. “Soon. Remember that.” He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her mouth and finally pressed a kiss near her ear. “Always.” His voice was little more than breath but she felt it in her soul.


	41. Healing Wounds

Isabeaux was wearing her mage robes while sitting in the tavern, they were as good as any armor in keeping people away. She was sitting quietly at a table in a side room writing in her journal and was trying not to appear to be waiting for Alistair. 

“Isabeaux? May I talk to you?” She didn’t have to look up to see Roland standing by the table.

“Certainly, Roland. Please, sit.” She looked up just as he sat; putting her pen in her journal as she closed it, then capped the ink pot. “What’s on your mind?”

“About today.” He looked earnestly at her. “I don’t know whether to apologize or be angry or… what. I know what I feel for you, though. I know that we are both bound by duty, but… after all of this is over, what do you see happening to us?”

“Provided we don’t all die horribly? I assume that life will go on. I’m afraid I don’t know what to tell you, Roland.”

“Let me be blunt then. I care for you. I’m attracted to the point of distraction. I want to be more than just a fall back when Alistair isn’t there.” As he spoke, she looked into his eyes and could see the truth there. “Is there a chance… any chance that you feel the same as me? Isabeaux, I woke this morning wishing that you were in my arms, as you were just a few days ago. I wanted to take you in my arms and kiss you, until you were breathless with wanting.”

“Roland, I would love to tell you that I feel the same, but I don’t. I care for you, and I don’t want you hurt. It was easier being angry that all of you made choices about my life without asking me, but I can see you were trying to do your best. I love you Roland, but not like I love Alistair. If Alistair wasn’t in the picture… then maybe I could care for you like you deserve. Truth to tell, even if Alistair and I don’t have a happy ever after, I will always love him. I’ll die loving him, and to ask you to wait would be unfair, for both of us.” He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it, trying to make her look at him.

“You won’t mind if I carry my own torch for you then? You’ll understand if I offer to be there for you when he breaks your heart?” He smiled gently, but she could see the sorrow underneath it all. When she couldn’t answer him, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “I’ll see you in the morning Isabeaux. If you change your mind, let me know.”

He stood and walked from the room, pausing in the doorway to look once more at her. She hadn’t reopened her journal, she was just sitting there, unmoving. Roland saw Alistair coming over and smiled congenially at the other warden. Alistair gave him a strange look but said nothing until he sat down across from Isabeaux.

“What was that about?” Alistair watched her try to pull her thoughts back to the present.

“Roland and I had a talk, that’s all. He wanted to know where he stood, with me, so I told him.” She opened her journal and tried to write something, but her hand was shaking, making the words a jumble of squiggles on the page. 

“Will you tell me?” He watched her consider his request.

“He told me he cares for me and asked if I felt the same. I told him that I while I care for him, I will never love him.” She shrugged and took a deep breath trying to settle herself. When she had pulled her walls back up she looked him in the eyes, her smile, while not quite a lie, wasn’t genuine.

“I got a bottle of wine from the barkeep. What do you say to drinking it up in the room?” A small smile played on his lips.

“Why in the room? Why not here?” She raised an eyebrow at his choice of drinking location.

“I’d rather not try to have to negotiate stairs while assisting a tipsy warden along with me. What do you say?” She sighed and gathered her things, tucking her journal under her arm. He grinned at having won the small battle. They were silent as they walked to the tiny room they had unofficially decided to share. She put her things away and then sat on the bed, her legs tucked under her. He set the bottle of wine next to him as he sat on the floor and looked up at her. Alistair poured her a cup of wine and handed it to her first, then poured one for himself.

“So, why don’t you love Roland? He’s a good warrior, a nice person…” Alistair’s voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying. She chuckled lightly and took a sip of the wine, trying not to remember the last time they were alone and drinking wine. She considered his question though, and shrugged before answering.

“I just don’t. I enjoyed his kisses, but they weren’t…” she stopped herself before she finished the sentence, Alistair didn’t need her to say it. He waited and then pushed her again.

“They weren’t what, Isabeaux?” He hadn’t touched her, which made it both easier and more awkward.

“They weren’t yours. He wasn’t you. You still don’t get it do you?” Isabeaux shook her head and downed her wine. “Do you remember the first girl you kissed?”

Alistair paused in the process of getting up to kiss her, confused. Instead of settling back down, he moved up to the bed with her and curled her against him. “Yes, I remember Kyanna.”

“Tell me about her, Alistair.”

He told her about the sweet and beautiful girl that had worked in the laundry at the Abbey where he trained to be a Templar. He spoke lovingly about her hair and how it looked like spun gold and her eyes were a deep dark blue that he always got lost in. He’d been sixteen and the two of them had shared kisses in the far corner of the Chantry garden. They’d been found out by a senior Templar and Kyanna had been sent away. Alistair smiled as the memory of Kyanna’s touch and felt guilty that he hadn’t thought of her in so long.

“Was she your first love?” Isabeaux had retreated but he wasn’t sure what he’d said or done.

“I loved her, but I’m not still in love with her, if that is what you are worried about. It was a simple sort of love, I suppose.” Alistair kissed the top of Isabeaux’s head.

“The wine has made me maudlin, I’m sorry. I’m sure you meant it to be a happy sort of reunion.”

“It’s alright.” He tipped her head back so that he could look at her. “For what it’s worth, I cannot imagine being here with anyone else but you.” Alistair looked into her eyes, and smiled.

“I feel the same way Alistair.” She blushed at his regard. His eyes examined her face, looking for something. “What are you thinking about?”

“You are so beautiful Isabeaux.” He leaned in and kissed her. His hand skimmed up her side, igniting a fire within her breast. She moaned and was on the verge of submission when she pulled back.

“Alistair, stop.” Her voice quavered.

“What’s wrong?” Alistair immediately backed away. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, but…” Isabeaux looked into his eyes and saw desire but not love. She had to think, could she live without his love? Could she give herself so completely without knowing that he might never love her back? He watched the questions flow over her face, she was almost as afraid as he was. He could see that now. He could push her or he could wait, wait until they were both ready instead of trying to make them both ready.

“How about we put the wine aside and just lay here, together. I won’t compromise you.” Alistair tried to make light of it all, but he worried that the time would never be right for them, just like it hadn’t been right with the others.

“I want you to compromise me, Alistair, just… not tonight. I still feel angry and raw from the past few days, and I don’t want that between us. I want to feel like I did the night that we danced beneath the stars.” She smiled slightly.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to the mattress; unresisting, her body stretched along his. Isabeaux couldn’t meet his eyes though, resting her face against his shirt. 

“I understand, love.” His words were soft as he brushed a hand along her hair.

“What did you say Alistair?” She thought that she might have misheard him. She looked up at him, hoping that he would repeat the endearment and mean it. He looked down at her puzzled.

“I said, I understood.” His words held a question in them, but the answer was in his eyes. She could see something within the crystalline depths that hadn’t been there before, beneath the desire. His smile was sweet as his breathing became ragged with her scrutiny. Alistair had to acknowledge the damage they had done to each other, feeling her pain as his own. She trusted him to help her make it right. 

He leaned in, wanting to kiss her and pushing just a bit, testing her boundaries. Isabeaux nipped at his lip before opening to him. She smiled as their lips parted. Isabeaux started to speak; and to quiet her, he placed a finger against her lips. His breath caught as she opened her lips a bit more and flicked her tongue up its length turning his brain to mush. 

“You can thank Leliana for teaching me that one.” She said in a ragged voice. Alistair liked that she was as affected by him as he was her.

“So does this mean that we can torment each other, but not…?” Alistair asked. He couldn’t breathe for wanting her to answer.

“Yes.” Her voice was soft and wanting, her eyes just the slightest bit unfocused. He was glad that he’d left the candles lit, he was going to take his time and see exactly what it took to get that careful facade of hers to slip. When it was their time, when he finally made love to her, he wanted to know her moods even better than he did now. Alistair wanted to know that she loved him as much as he loved her. He just hoped, when the time was right, he could say the words she needed to hear, but that she would forgive him if he still couldn’t. He ran his hand up her back and stroked the back of her neck before moving up even further and pulling the pins from her hair.

They weren’t going to get any sleep, Alistair was sure of that. The archdemon would just have to find someone else to torment, they were busy.


	42. Finding Cailan

They’d been sneaking across Bann Loren’s lands when they came across a survivor from the battle at Ostagar. Eric Margaine, one of the Kings own was less than sixteen meters away from their little group. He should have been at Cailan’s side; he should have died at Ostagar. Isabeaux could almost hear Alistair thinking the exact same thing. Eric Margaine was a deserter, but Isabeaux still couldn’t bring herself to leave him to the Bann’s men.

Isabeaux and Alistair looked at each other, and without needing to speak, nodded in their agreement to save Margaine; but the guards had noticed them far too soon and one thrust his sword into Margaine’s belly. The ten armed men fell quickly under the combined might of Alistair and Sten. Wynne rushed forward to aid Margaine while Isabeaux focused on ending the guard’s lives. 

Margaine was a deserter, and while the idea disgusted both Wynne and Alistair, Isabeaux understood. He’d been afraid and run. Since then, he had suffered for his actions ten times over. Margaine had paid for his actions; she wouldn’t compound his suffering with her disdain. He was dying as they watched anyway. The man told them of Cailan’s key and chest, and with his last breath he begged them to see Cailan off if they could find him. The man’s last thoughts were of his king, his friend; Isabeaux would follow his wishes.

Wynne and Alistair had insisted on going with her, both stating the need to finish the battle for themselves. Sten had no opinion about the king, but was happy to slash his way through more darkspawn. Isabeaux hoped that the others would understand when the four of them didn’t show up to Redcliffe as planned. It would take them two days to get to the ruins, so Isabeaux would try to find a messenger in the meantime. 

 

The heavy snow added a sense of peace and serenity that Isabeaux wouldn’t have ascribed to the ruins. Fat flakes continued to drift down adding weight to silence.

The four of them approached carefully, not wanting to call the whole of the horde upon them. As it was, they were often overrun, outnumbered by the spawn but their resolve never failed them. Isabeaux took advantage of a break in the fighting to enter the stone ring where she had first met Alistair and gone through her joining. She felt Alistair’s eyes on her back as she knelt in the snow, sending up a prayer to the Maker, to Andraste and in her heart, to Duncan. Peace settled in her soul and a modicum of her magic returned, she had a few more fights in her today… maybe. As she stood, her hand brushed something colder and harder than the snow around her. Isabeaux reached out and pulled, freeing a silver goblet from its icy storage. Recognition blindsided her, it was the goblet from the Joining Ceremony. Running her fingers around the stem, she could almost feel Duncan’s presence. Now was not the time to share the find with Alistair, she would give it to him later, away from the taint in the ruins.

Alistair, seeing that he wouldn’t disturb her reverie walked up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. She turned and looked up at him, the goblet already tucked away. Sten and Wynne stayed back, allowing the wardens to share this moment and space with just each other.

“We met here. Do you remember?” His voice was soft. She smiled, surprised at the warmth his words filled her with.

“Yes. You were arguing… with another mage.” Her mouth quirked up in a half smile at the memory.

“I was, and when I turned I saw you.” His gloved hand skimmed across her jaw. “I’m glad I didn’t see you sooner, you would have ruined my witty repartee. I meant the other time though.” Her brow furrowed, trying to follow. He grinned. “This is where the ritual happened, where we were bound together. I wonder if Duncan knew.”

“If Duncan knew what?” Her heart was beating heavily in her chest, all the spawn surely heard it.

“How important you would become. How important you are… to me.” He started to lean in and remembered where they were, their mission. He cleared his throat and stepped back, unable to meet her eyes for a minute. She touched his hand on her face and then she too stepped back, breaking the physical connection, but she couldn’t help but feel he was still touching her. 

“We should… get moving.” She could hardly speak and was grateful that, for once, he led the way, back to the others. 

They’d covered the camp, recovering Cailan’s documents and most of his armor, but it wasn’t until they had started to cross the bridge that they found the king’s body. It had been hung, broken and lifeless; used as target practice. Isabeaux felt an intense anger at the cruelty of the scene. She had thought them mindless; now she knew, they were worse than anyone had a right to be, truly cursed by the maker. She looked up along the bridge and saw a different kind of darkspawn. To Isabeaux, it was as if the archedemon had plucked the remains of Uldred’s soul and put it in the creature across the way, such was its power. A wave of magic washed over the bridge and the frozen dead came to life to attack them.

They sliced through the dead and more spawn working their way over bridge and towards the tower. It wasn’t until they reached the door of the tower that Isabeaux noticed that Alistair had been injured. She had seen him knocked down, but he’d gotten back up so quickly that she’d thought little of it. Isabeaux gaped at his leg, sliced across the thigh and bleeding profusely. She had little magic at her command, not enough to heal him. She’d already fallen back to using her daggers and a bow she’d picked up. Wynne was in similar circumstances using a bow and staying as far back as she dared. Isabeaux dug in her pack and pulled out one of her mage robes and tore it using her knife. Wynne and Sten took the strips and bound his leg as well as they could. Even with the loss of adrenaline and blood, Alistair insisted that he continue on with them.

The windows in the tower let in the frigid air and pale light, but the stench of the dead and spawn remained. Wynne insisted that Alistair stay near her and as far from the fighting as he could stand. Sten and Isabeaux went ahead, working together easily. She allowed Sten’s battlefield expertise to take over, following the orders that he barked out. They’d worked their way across the first floor and down into the tunnels the spawn had dug. During one break while in the tower, Sten asked her about her willingness to follow orders, specifically his.

“Sten, you have forgotten more about fighting than I will ever know. Why shouldn’t I take advantage of that experience? Besides, you have followed my commands about where we go and when. Why shouldn’t I do the same on occasion? One needs to be mindful of another’s strengths.” The strain of the day and fear for Alistair was making her words more blunt than she liked.

“You aren’t as callow as I thought.” Sten’s words carried a hint of surprise and pleasure. She looked up at him and grinned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Isabeaux wanted a break and Sten’s words gave it to her.

“It’s a word in your language; it means a small flightless bird.” Sten’s voice rumbled and Isabeaux was beginning to hear the humor he hid so well. She grumbled good-naturedly at him and they relaxed into a conversation that seemed to surprise the Qunari. Feeling slightly more energized, Isabeaux walked over to Alistair, his face was pale, but he was holding on.

“Let me try, Alistair.” She lifted her hands to start to heal him, when he grabbed one of her wrists, stopping her.

“Not now. You might need it soon. I’ll be fine, you wrapped my leg pretty good.” She wanted to argue with him, but he pulled her in tightly and kissed her hard. “Don’t argue.” The words were whispered against her mouth, and she wanted to weep knowing that his strength was beginning to fail. They were almost out of the Tower and outside. She hoped that the strangely powerful spawn was nearby so that she could end this and devote the last of her energy to helping Alistair.

They broke out into the frigid air with Isabeaux leading the way, following the scent of tainted magic. They found themselves on the battlefield and Isabeaux was almost knocked over by the force of memory the field held. She could see the battle raging as it had that night, arrows flying, finding homes in the breasts of the spawn. She saw an ogre take the life of King Cailan, squeezing him like a ragdoll and tossing him aside; saw Duncan wounded but still more than a match for the ogre, burying his swords deep in the creature’s chest. Isabeaux pulled back from the vision, back to her present and delved deep for more power. The spawn had other tricks up his sleeve though. The ogre, lying frozen in the snow came to life, Duncan’s swords still in his chest. Anger and hatred for the creature welled up inside of her, and Isabeaux ran toward it, daggers bared. Magic enhanced her speed launching herself against the beast. The metal of her knives burned with ice as she buried them in the creature, finding that her weapons wouldn’t do the trick, she grabbed one of Duncan’s from the ogre’s chest and plunged it deep in the creature’s eyes. Its death cry was a sweet victory to Isabeaux. 

She saw the magic wielding spawn preparing another attack and Isabeaux tossed the sword aside, still astride the Ogre’s corpse, and she notched an arrow in her bow, letting it loose, flying with the aid of magic. It struck the spawn in the neck. Not enough to kill, but certainly enough to stun it. She grabbed one of the dropped swords and she and Sten raced across the field to finish the job. The creature fell under the sweep of Sten’s sword. Isabeaux wiped the stinging blood from her eyes with fresh, clean snow, and then recovered the last of Cailan’s armor. She also found Duncan’s armor on the creature. It would have to be cleaned, but it was another connection to the great man. Exhausted, she sat in the snow, uncaring of the cold, unable to move farther, until she saw Alistair collapse, even with Wynne helping him.

Sten took control of aiding Alistair’s steps, while Wynne tried to aid Isabeaux. Isabeaux waved the woman off and dragged her tired body back through the tower and onto the bridge. Wynne and Isabeaux worked together to remove Cailan’s body from its perch while Sten brought wood to make a funeral pyre. The lyrium potions that had been so helpful before barely brought a change to Isabeaux’s supply of magic. She could light the pyre and keep it burning but not much else. Instead, she raised her voice in song, asking the spirits to lead Cailan to the maker. Sure that she had done her best, Isabeaux let the others lead her to their horses which had been mercifully spared by the spawn.

A day from Redcliffe, Alistair fell unconscious from the wound that still had not healed. The constant jarring of the horse hadn’t helped, but there had been no place to get a cart. The smell of the wound also worried her, infection had set in and no matter how clean or how much magic she and Wynne expended, it would always come back. Alistair was losing the battle against the wound and it tore at her. They would rest at night, Isabeaux always at his side. At least he was resting comfortably for now, they would arrive at the castle by mid-morning and could spend their time taking care of him and making him better.

“Isabeaux?” His voice sounded dry and cracked, the fever from the infection setting his skin on fire. 

“Yes love? I’m here.” She spoke softly, as she reached for the cup of water at her side.

“I love you, Izzy. You should know that.” His eyes were open but unseeing and panic gripped her. “I should have told you that.”

“You are going to be fine my love. Drink the water. We’ll get you better.” Tears were streaming down her face, terrified she was going to lose him, angry that she couldn’t heal him. She kissed him gently as the fever dreams took him for the night. “I love you too, Alistair. Please, come back to me.”


	43. Hard Choices

Isabeaux was sitting by Alistair’s bed holding his hand, begging him to get better. When they first arrived at Redcliffe, Isolde took one look at Alistair and cleared the best guest room for him, but he hadn’t gotten better, he’d gotten worse. It was Teagan who had the idea to move Alistair to the stables into the old stable master’s room. It had been untenanted for years and had taken the work of four men, including Teagan, two hours to clean the room and prepare it as a sick room. 

For the past few days, he’d just been lying there, barely moving. She’d tried to use magic, as had Wynne. Every time they thought they had gotten all of the infection, it would come back. He was so weak she couldn’t see how he’d recover, but he had too. 

“Alistair? Can you hear me? Please love…,” her voice quavered, then she leaned over and placed her lips on his. Nothing was helping, and then her eyes landed on the bag of crafting components. She had a fairly substantial pile of lyrium as well as a number of lyrium potions, it had to be enough to send her into the fade, where she could bargain. 

Teagan walked in with her lunch on a tray. He’d been so kind to her, making sure she ate and tending to Alistair when she had to step away. 

“Teagan? Is Jowan still here or did you finally send him back to the circle?” Isabeaux didn’t even look at Alistair’s uncle, afraid that he would be able to see her plan and stop her before she could start.

“Yeeeeees.” He drawled out the word, wanting to ask so many questions but not knowing where to start.

“Would you bring him here? I need him.” She still avoided his gaze, holding Alistair’s hand against her cheek.

“Isabeaux? Warden? What are you planning?” Teagan sounded unsure but wanted his nephew better too.

She didn’t answer. If Jowan couldn’t or wouldn’t help her, she would find a way into the fade without him. When Teagan left, she gathered all of her lyrium. She would wait one hour, if he didn’t come by then, she would take all of the lyrium and force herself into the fade.

“I’m coming for you Alistair. Wait for me.” She kissed his hand and his lips, trembling, knowing that it was likely she wouldn’t see him open his eyes. Isabeaux pulled out the joining chalice and placed the amulet that she’d bought him on the bedside table. She checked his bandages, the infection was back and she used her magic to clean it out. As the infection left, she poured some of a health potion down his throat to try to heal the gaping wound.

“Isabeaux?” Jowan had walked in wondering what it was that she wanted. Most people thought that Alistair wasn’t going to survive the wound. He should have healed, but the blood he was losing was black, tainted.

“I need your help. I want to go into the Fade. I need to find him.” Her voice was low and urgent.

“You don’t have the resources. You don’t have the mages. Let me look in my books, and see if there is another way.” Jowan touched her shoulder and she flinched away. She thrust her hand at the pile of lyrium that she had collected. “Where did you get…?”

“If you don’t help me…,”her voice trailed off, but her determination was clear. “I know that there are many ways to go into the Fade.” She finally pulled her eyes off of Alistair. “I refuse to believe that he is dying. Jowan we were friends once, closer than friends. Please, help me.”

Jowan looked away from her, trying to find a way to reason with Isabeaux. 

“Jowan… I love him. I can’t let him die.” Isabeaux’s voice broke and reached out to hold Jowan’s robe.

“Give me until dark, please Isabeaux. Let me find another way.” He managed to make a connection. “For now, talk to him, tell him a story about you. Pull him from the darkness.”

Isabeaux watched Jowan leave the room and felt the last bits of her hope go too. She would give them until dark. She crawled onto the bed and snuggled into his body. Her arm stretched over him and laid her head on his chest, listening to the sluggish beat of his heart.

“I remember the day I met you, my love. I was still so new in the world and you were a handsome knight, handsome in a way I had never encountered. So kind, funny, sweet… you made my hand tingle the very first time you took it. The night before the battle I was so afraid, and tried to remember everything that Duncan had told me. I looked up to the stars and asked the good spirits for help, and you were there. You were a star come down to offer me comfort. I never thanked you for that, for comforting me and chasing away the nightmares, but I’m having nightmares again love. In them you aren’t by me. I need you Alistair; I need you here, next to me, loving me, keeping the nightmares away.” She was unaware of Teagan and Jowan returning. “Please, Alistair, I can’t do this without you.” The two men were frozen in place by her grief. They waited for a minute or two longer, letting her grieve, before Jowan spoke up.

“I think I might have an idea. Isabeaux? I think we can make this work.” Jowan’s voice was hesitant.

She sat up and looked first at Jowan then Teagan. Slowly she wiped her eyes, the green swimming behind her tears.

“What are we going to do?” She had no fears, she would give her life to save him.

“We are going to use your blood, Teagan’s blood and lyrium to attempt to purge the infection and replace some of the blood he’s lost. “I can’t promise that it will work, but I would rather try this first than watch you die from lyrium.”

She looked up at Teagan who did not look happy about any of this. “Are you okay with this? You don’t have to do it.”

“I will not sacrifice one warden for another. Jowan claims that this shouldn’t hurt Alistair and was the least dangerous path for you.” Teagan walked up to her and sat on the bed next to Isabeaux, leaning in and kissing her temple. 

Isabeaux’s eyes lit upon the chalice and handed it to Jowan. Use this, for the ritual; it’s what was used to make both of us Wardens. We survived that, he can survive this. Jowan nodded and took some of the raw lyrium, sprinkling it into the bowl of the silver chalice. He held his hand out for Teagan, placing the man’s hand over the cup, slicing Teagan’s palm. A thin trickle of blood slipped into the chalice. Jowan only allowed the Bann to contribute a small amount to the potion. Isabeaux healed the cut and then took Teagan’s place. Jowan went to slice her hand as well, but she moved the knife over her wrist. He tried to plead with her but she was adamant. He nicked her vein and the blood, thick and dark pumped out. He tried to stop her twice but she used her power to keep it open.

“Isabeaux! You need to stop! Now! There is enough here! Stop!” Jowan used his power to simultaneously close her wound and push her back. He chanted some words over the chalice and she watched it glow darkly. Isabeaux watched him carefully. When the potion was ready, Jowan handed her the goblet. 

The two men watched as she slipped behind Alistair, careful not to lose a drop of the substance. With Alistair propped up, she fed him the potion and murmured encouragements to him. They waited until all of it had been poured down his throat, before Teagan escorted Jowan back to the dungeon. 

Isabeaux stayed behind Alistair, holding him, crying against his hair. Teagan came back and eased her from the bed. He checked her wrist first and then handed her a healing brew from Wynne. As she drank it, he set up a screen halfway across the room. Servants carried up a metal tub and steaming water. He encouraged her to bathe and when she had problem washing herself, he treated her like a child and went about the task impersonally, washing her, drying her off and dressing her. When she was done, he tucked her into the bed next to Alistair. He kissed her temple and settled down to keep watch over them. Just before dawn, in the burgeoning light Teagan saw a change in both of them. Alistair’s chest rose and fell more deeply, his mouth moved slightly as he dreamed. Isabeaux became more still, exhausted by her efforts.

“Wake up Alistair.” Teagan said the words softly, urging his nephew to open his eyes. “Wake up, now!” 

Alistair’s eyes fought to open, his arm tucked around Isabeaux twitched and pulled her in more closely. Minutes, hours later, Alistair’s eyes opened and looked first at Teagan and then at the woman in his arms. She had all but stopped moving and Alistair seemed to sense the danger. Instead of pleading with her, as she had done, he kissed her and then tried to roll over, to position himself better. It was his movement that jostled her awake. Her eyes fluttered open and Alistair was greeted with love as he fell into her spring green eyes.

“My love, my knight, my wish.” Her voice was rough from days of crying.

“My heart, my life… my love.” He leaned in and claimed her lips. 

Teagan shot out of his chair to tell the castle the good news.


	44. Practical Experience

“You are a horrible patient.” She tried to look stern and was failing. He was lying abed, restless and bored.

“Well, if you would let me out of this bed, I could show you how much better I feel.” Alistair grinned and held out his hand. She looked at the offering and smiled back at him. She’d fallen for that trick earlier. He’d pulled her down for kisses and light caresses, then Isolde walked in and looked at them disapprovingly. Isabeaux had been careful since then. On her own terms, she sat on the edge of the bed and kissed him tenderly.

“You are still too weak.” She brushed his hair off of his brow and her face creased in concern and frustration. “Isolde and Wynne are insisting that I move back into the castle, because sleeping out here near you is indecent now that you are awake. I just wish I knew who they were actually concerned for.” She tried to smile, make light of it. Isabeaux still hadn’t told him what they had done to make him better, nor that she was leaving with the others in less than an hour to go to someplace called Soldier’s Peak.

“They are concerned for you and your reputation, I’m sure.” He tried to be conciliatory, but then he took in the fact she was in armor. “You don’t need your armor here, Izzy. I can wait until you say I’m ready and healthy.”

She turned her face, conflicted about leaving, but everyone thought it would be for the best. She was taking Leliana, Zevran and Sten. Roland had become solicitous about her health since Alistair had recovered and it was making her as nervous as Alistair did. Isabeaux had decided to leave Roland in Redcliffe.

“I’m going to take care of a problem. I should be gone for about a week and a half. Wynne will keep an eye on you while I’m gone. I hope you will be better when I return.” She let her desire for him show through her eyes. His hand skimmed her jaw and grinned as her eyes slid closed and she leaned into his hand..

“Izzy. Don’t leave me. Wait until I’m better and I’ll go with you.” His voice was rough and wanting.

She stretched out along his side and slid her hand across his chest. Alistair settled her more closely to him. He didn’t want to let her go.

“I need to do this, love. Some of the others are concerned that your attraction to me is due to your illness and the fact that I was the one that took care of you. Before I go, I have to tell you… something.” Her voice trailed off, and she struggled up out of his arms.

“What? Izzy, love, come here. It’ll be okay.” He tried to pull her back down, into his arms. 

“We had to do something drastic to heal you. You weren’t responding to any normal means of healing.” Isabeaux wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, remembering her despair. “I called Jowan in and with the help of him and Teagan, we… we healed you.”

Alistair’s eyes narrowed. “You healed me with blood magic! What were you thinking!” Part of him wanted to drag her back into his arms and kiss her until she saw reason, the other part wanted to yell.

“I needed you. I was dying too.” Her voice was small and sad. She pulled even further away from him. Alistair sat up and grabbed her hand, pulling her back onto the bed, and on to his chest. She struggled a bit before settling against him.

“Don’t go. Not yet.” He wasn’t ready to let her walk out the door. She looked into his eyes and then leaned in and kissed him. He could feel the flicker of her magic, working on him, making him sleepy. “Izzy?”

“Sleep my love. I’ll be back soon, safe and sound. I promise.” Her words were whispered and his eyes slipped closed.

He tried one last time to open them. “Izzy.”

She lay in his arms until he was asleep and then with a sweet kiss against his lips, she slipped away. Before she left the room, she placed her journal next to his pillow, where he would see it. The sun was moving ever higher and she was expected in the courtyard. Her hand touched his face one last time, leaned in and pressed her lips against his.

“Always.” 

 

Soldier’s Peak was an amazing fortress. The spirits, however, made it less than a prime location. They had fought through undead, shades and demons. While they searched for the source, they’d found an ancient warden mage, barely hanging on. 

Isabeaux studied his notes but was disgusted by his methods, a mage should have either willing participants or use himself, Avernus did neither. The others looked on, worried that she would follow his path. She did, palm the solution that he had distilled and would take his notes to see where he’d gone wrong. His methods were distasteful but his research led to both expanded information about warden powers and hinted at ways around some of a warden’s limitations.

After a final confrontation with the torn veil, Isabeaux pulled Avernus aside. The man had his own ultimatum, he wanted to live and to continue his experiments or he would die at her hands. She couldn’t allow any mage to act beyond the confines of the laws of man, as it would just perpetuate the idea that magic was evil. Per his request, Isabeaux struck his head from his body. Sten and Leliana were happy with the outcome. Only Zevran understood what it cost Isabeaux to kill another mage as she had. Uldred had attacked her, Avernus had been a passive mark. 

The small group chose to clean a space and stay the night before heading back to Redcliffe. Zevran laughed at Isabeaux’s desire to return as soon as possible.

“He will be burning with passion by the time we return, my dear warden. Do not worry. The time that we were traveling without you, you were all he talked about. I think that you should be aware that he asked about wooing you. Are you worried that you will be forgotten in the short time we have been away? Or perhaps, it is the prospect of being with a man that has you worried.” Zevran spoke in hushed tones and chuckled at her blush of discomfort. “I could help you with the latter and prepare you for the delights of the bed, but then it would be me that you would love and not your Alistair.”

Isabeaux narrowed her eyes and glared at Zevran. 

“I believe that I will be better off without more practical experience than I already have.” Isabeaux got the words out between gritted teeth.

“Leave her alone Zevran. You don’t understand a woman’s fears about such an act.” Leliana was trying to come to her aid at least. Isabeaux wished they would both drop the subject, as did Sten who chose that moment to remove himself outside. Isabeaux knew that if she tried that they would just follow. So she set up her bed roll and hoped they would talk about something else.

The next hour was one of the most uncomfortable discussions that Isabeaux ever participated in. She now knew more, but wouldn’t be able to look Alistair in the eye to use any of it. Her face was warm enough to take the chill off of the room and by the way that Leliana and Zevran were giggling and touching each other, theoretical instruction was going to turn into a demonstration. While the two were engaged in kissing, Isabeaux gathered her things and found another room to sleep in. Morning and escape couldn’t come soon enough.


	45. First Night

They’d ridden hard to return to Redcliffe Castle, stopping once at Lake Calenhad to inquire about Sten’s sword, which he’d lost in a battle there against darkspawn. She suggested that Zevran and Leliana get a room at the inn, then, ignoring the rest of her party, she walked upstairs to the room she had rented. She’d offered to share with Sten, but the Qunari chose to sleep in the open. Lying restless on the bed, Isabeaux had considered leaving the inn and joining Sten in the outdoors. She tossed and turned and left in a foul, testy mood the next morning. 

She returned to Redcliffe and discovered that her things had been moved to a guest chamber in the castle. Isabeaux accepted them graciously and chose to return there first, to repair the damage a day’s hard ride had caused. The hall was silent and she worried that she had gone the wrong way when a servant informed her that this was the Grey Warden floor. Only the Wardens would be allowed to stay here. She laughed lightly and wished that she could be out in the stables with its illusion of freedom.

The room she had been given was opulent but dark. She missed the light and felt closed in. One of the many servants in the castle brought in a tub, courtesy of Bann Teagan, and filled it with hot water. Isabeaux laughed at the knowledge that her habits had been noticed by the Bann. She slipped into the hot water and tried not to think about Zevran and Leliana’s instructions or Alistair and his kisses. It didn’t help that the more she tried not to think of him, the more in her mind he was. 

A knock at the door disturbed her musings.

“Yes?” She started to get out, grab her robe, but a maid came in with a small note written on cream colored paper. Isabeaux wiped her hands on a piece of toweling and took the note. The maid retreated to the door, obviously waiting for a reply of sorts.

“Dearest Isabeaux,  
I have heard you returned and while I was saddened that you did not rush into my arms, I know it was because of the will of others. I have a surprise for you. Meet me in the garden at dusk. Wear the blue dress, if you will.  
Yours Always,  
Alistair” 

Her heart fluttered with excitement and she turned in the tub to look at the maid.

“Were you to wait for a response?” Isabeaux was almost breathless.

“Yes, ma’am. And Bann Teagan said that I was to help you in any way you needed this evening.” The maid curtsied as she spoke, bobbing up and down more like punctuation to her words than anything.

“Please tell Alistair that I will see him as requested.” Isabeaux almost stumbled over the words. Suddenly the water felt too cold against her heated skin.

“I will do so, and then set out whatever you will need. I can dress your hair as well, if you like.” The young woman’s eyes were dewy with romance, she had read the letter too, it seemed.

“Please.” The girl curtsied again to show she had heard and then fled the room to accomplish her tasks. Isabeaux washed quickly, her heart beating fast. She scrubbed at her hair and skin, trying to remove the smell of horses from both. Once clean and pink, she used the toweling to dry off. The maid had already returned and had set out the blue dress. Isabeaux used magic to dry her hair and then dressed as requested. The silky underthings skimmed over her body and made her blush as she imagined Alistair’s hands doing the same thing. The maid brushed out her hair and then dressed it in an intricate pattern of small braids and fat ringlets. The final touch was the black velvet band that graced her throat. The maid gushed over Isabeaux’s beauty and fortune to have caught Alistair’s eye. 

When she was finally ready, it was just before dusk. The setting sun painted the sky in garish pinks and oranges, but the walls of the castle glowed a deep warm red. She followed the servant’s directions to the garden, expecting to need to wait, she was early. Alistair was already there though, a blanket stretched out between the rows of flowers. He was dressed in finery she wasn’t aware he owned. It took him a moment to realize she was there, as he was preoccupied with the blanket placement.

“Alistair?” Isabeaux’s voice was soft and a little fearful, even now, having exchanged words of love, she expected to be left behind in some way. Alistair turned and the smile on his face erased her doubts. He closed the space between them and pulled her into a swift and needy embrace.

“Isabeaux.” He whispered her name reverently. “I’ve missed you, but your absence made me work harder to get better. If you had stayed, I would have languished just to have you at my bedside every day.” As he spoke he nibbled at her neck and the bottom of her ear. “I truly wasn’t sure you would come.”

“I will always come when you call, as long as I hear the summons.” She grinned as she spoke. Instead of answering, he kissed her, his mouth hard and possessive. She leaned into the kiss, molding her body to his. Soon they were both breathless with wanting.

“Zevran came to see me when you returned this afternoon. He told me what had happened at the castle gates, and why you didn’t come to me. He also let me know that you and Leliana and he had a chat while you were traveling.” Alistair’s grin was sweet but quizzical. Zevran may have passed along that they talked, but obviously not the gist of the conversation. Isabeaux felt her face heat and she looked away. “I also read the most interesting journal.”

“I shouldn’t have left that,” she mumbled.

“If you hadn’t I wouldn’t have known… so many things. At any rate, I convinced the cook to provide an evening picnic for us, and Leliana and Teagan are providing interference with the unwanted parties. We have the whole of the evening to ourselves. Shall we eat first? I would like to hear about your trip, and this mysterious conversation that makes you blush.” His voice was light and teasing, but his eyes were filled with heat.

“What would you say if I told you I wasn’t hungry.” She kept her eyes on his. Isabeaux smiled as he blushed and stammered.

“Isabeaux? Would you… would you stay with me, tonight?” 

“Are you certain Alistair?” Her words were hesitant, but she had to hear them.

“I have never been more certain, or more nervous. Please, say yes Isabeaux.” Alistair gathered her into his arms and skimmed his mouth hotly along her neck.

“Yes, Alistair. I… I never thought you would ask.” Her hands fluttered over his back, wanting to hold him tightly and hope that if she were dreaming that she wouldn’t wake.

“Dinner can wait then. He left the basket of food on the blanket and scooped Isabeaux into his arms. Alternating between kissing her and trying to keep his footing, Alistair took her up to his room in the stables. 

Isabeaux was shocked at the transformation, small lanterns dotted the room creating pockets of light, the bed covers had been pulled down to show thick, soft sheets. On the bedside table was the amulet she kept meaning to give to him and the chalice, both sitting on her journal. Next to all of that was a small leather pouch. She didn’t time to worry about any of it as Alistair had set her on her feet next to the bed. The large wooden shutters that had been kept open during his convalescence were closed. She looked askance at Alistair, who shrugged.

“I was hoping that our time up here would be our own, at least for a while.” He kissed both her palms and then shifted from foot to foot. “I… I have never done this before, you know that. I… I just wanted it to be perfect.”

“It is perfect, Alistair, I’m with you.” She leaned in and kissed his lips tenderly and then reached back and undid the ribbon at her throat. She watched him avert his eyes slightly and had to ask. “Would you rather we waited?” 

“No, love. I… I just… I am unsure of how to proceed. I want this to be special.” She grinned at his admission and kissed him again, her lips sliding along the strong column of his throat.

“Then, follow my lead.” She reached up and undid the laces of his leather jerkin. He shrugged it off once she had opened it and pushed it off his shoulders. Her small hands studied the hard planes of his chest through his shirt, sliding down until she reached where he had tucked it in to his leather breeches. Her fingertips slipped beneath the waistband and inched the linen shirt free. Her hands disappeared under the shirt and caressed his skin. Alistair was breathing heavily by this point. She pushed the shirt over his head and he threw it across the room, causing her to chuckle. Her mouth skimmed over his chest, her tongue flicking out to caress each flat nipple, listening to him sigh and moan. His breeches could barely constrain his growing interest. 

Half undressed, she pushed her love to the bed, her palm to his chest. Leaning in, she kissed his ear and gave him instructions.

“Take off your boots my love.” He nodded that he had heard and bent to work, his eyes never leaving her. She unlaced the front of her dress and worked it off of her shoulders, letting it slide down her body to pool at her feet. Her mind trying to recall any of the advice that Zevran and Leliana had passed along. She heard his breath catch as she stood there in her chemise, stockings and slippers. Suddenly shy, she bit her lip and became uncertain.

Sensing a change in her mood, Alistair stood and walked over to her, his hands sliding up her arms, pulling her in. He kissed her ardently and then moaned as she skimmed her lips along his cheek to kiss and lick his neck.

“My beautiful Isabeaux.” His hands were hot through her chemise and she thought she would ignite from his touch. Slowly he slipped the straps of her chemise off her shoulders, baring her breasts but trapping her arms. Kneeling in front of her, he kissed and licked the soft mounds of flesh until she writhed under his ministrations. “Turnabout is fair play,” he said. His breath was hot against her and his tongue was liquid fire. He stood and embraced her, pushing the chemise down and letting it finish its fall to the floor, landing on top of the puddle of dress. Her small clothes and stockings were the only barrier left, and she ached to remove them.

Stooping slightly, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, settling her on the soft sheets, before his hands pushed the stockings down her legs, kissing each inch of skin as it was exposed. Then he reached under her buttocks and took hold of her small clothes, pulling them down and off, tossing them across the room to join his shirt. She smiled bashfully, and tried to hide her complete nakedness from him. He may have seen her without clothes before, but never when she was fully awake. She watched in awe as his fingers fumbled with the laces on his breeches. Suddenly free, he pushed them down and off, leaving them on the floor, so that he could join her in the bed. His hand skimmed along her body but both knew that their control was at an end.

She took his face in her hands and urged him on top of her with hot greedy kisses and gentle pulls. She was surprised and a little unprepared for his size and hissed in pain as he slid into her.

“Have I hurt you my love?” He panted the words, the hope she would say no was apparent in his eyes.

“No, Alistair. Please, make love to me. Make me yours.” She shifted a bit to make his entrance easier, hoping the stinging would ease. He murmured in her ear sweet and tender things, words of love and wanting. He slid out slightly and reseated himself within her; the stinging changed and became more pleasurable. Quickly they established a rhythm and all too soon, it was over.

They continued to kiss and touch, never leaving one another until the urgency grew again. This time, Alistair pushed her to the edge, with each touch, each taste, each kiss. She writhed and moaned beneath him, begging for completion. Again they moved together, coupling slower this time, finding what each other preferred. Kissing, caressing, heating one another. When they parted this time, Alistair knew that he had to be with her as often as he could, needing her touch. She was his home. 

He slipped free as she dozed in his bed, her hair spread across the pillows. He pulled on his breeches and ran to the garden to collect the basket of food. On his return, he saw her waking, and smiled.

“I brought dinner. I thought you might be hungry.” His eyes sparkled wickedly.

“I am famished, but not for food.” Her voice ran over his skin like velvet, his body responding instantly. Then she smiled wickedly. “I suppose I should eat something.” 

He shed his clothing and pulled the covers over him, leaving the basket on the floor.


	46. Atrast Vala

Isabeaux watched with amusement as Teagan and Alistair argued over whether or not he is capable to continue on with his duties as a Grey Warden. Zevran and Leliana were right beside her smirking into their hands as the argument became a farce. Isabeaux thought about telling Teagan that Alistair was indeed fine, and pushing the Bann into relenting, but this was Alistair’s job.

Isabeaux walked away and checked the horses, saw to Bodhan and made sure he was okay with being left behind at Redcliffe for the time being. She’d heard his story and it didn’t feel right to make him face his own past if he weren’t ready. When she walked back to her little group, she smiled to see Alistair sitting on his horse ready to go. She raised an eyebrow and he rolled his eyes. She could understand his frustration but it was his job to work it out. She looked for her horse and was surprised to see it loaded with supplies. Alistair rode up behind her and coughed into his hand. When she looked up he held out his hand.

“You are riding with me today. I hope you don’t mind.” Alistair smiled winningly. Isabeaux took his hand and he assisted her up in front of him. He whispered into her ear, telling her to lean back and relax against him. When she did, he sighed. Isabeaux thought she could get used to traveling this way.

The road was well traveled and they only had to deal with bandits on their way. The stopped at Gherlen’s Pass for the night. Alistair took over setting up their tent at a distance from the others. When she looked askance, he just smiled and kissed her gently but insistently. He’d been courteous to her all day around the others, but when they were alone, his hands turned wicked. She grinned and pulled him into the tent.

“Isabeaux, we should set up the watches.” He nuzzled her neck which told her that he wasn’t really worried about it. She unbuckled her armor and let it fall, exposing her thinly clad body to the cool air. Alistair moaned and held her close, his mouth roving over the exposed skin, and lowering her to the freshly laid bedroll. “Never mind the watches.”

She chuckled and could barely wait until he shed his armor and joined her. They loved each other more slowly than they had before. She tried to stay quiet as they moved together, kissing Alistair fervently to still his moans as well. Soon, all designs to hide their actions from the others were forgotten. She shattered underneath him, crying out from her release. The last bits of her moans were swallowed by Alistair just before he flooded into her. Tired and spent, they lay in each other’s arms. Alistair murmured sweet nothings into her ear and she was content to listen, comfortable and safe in his arms. 

A chill wind breezed through a crack in the tent flap, causing her to shiver. Alistair pulled her close and covered her with a blanket. The rest of the camp would have to take care of itself, Isabeaux thought, tonight her world was Alistair. 

*~*

The plateau that led to the depths of Orzammar was place of bustling industry. Merchants and travelers milled around, trading goods or gossiping. Isabeaux and Alistair gave the others free reign to look and shop as they tried to figure out who they had to speak with about the treaty. Alistair took advantage of the lack of companions to take her hand in his as they walked around the stalls, making their way to a stairway leading even further up.

“I should buy you something pretty.” Alistair mused. His fingers trailed over display cases filled with pretty baubles or brightly colored scarves and ribbon.

“Why? I have what I want. You don’t need to buy me anything.” She smiled up at him. He looked down at her and then claimed her lips possessively.

“And you are everything I could have wished for, my love.” He whispered the words before kissing her again. A sigh from one of the stalls separated them, knowing that they could easily forget the world around them, one of the many things that Wynne cautioned them against. “We should, um, find a way in. Since I doubt that they will allow all of us inside, who do you need to take?”

Isabeaux chuckled at his words and then considered their companions. “I would like to take Sten, and Zevran. Wynne is good as a backup, so is Leliana, but we should try to convince them to take everyone. It would be a good experience for all of us.” 

Isabeaux grinned as he took her lips again and then walked with her up the stairs. Once near the top, they saw massive stone doors that were closed to the outside world. Three dwarven guards blocked the entrance, arguing with three humans.

“More of Loghain’s men.” Alistair had whispered the words but she could tell more from their stance than their words. She chose to ignore them and take her case directly to the guards.

“I need to speak with your King. They Grey Wardens request that they be heard regarding the ancient treaties.” Isabeaux’s voice was loud, clear and begging for Loghain’s men to challenge her.

“You would let in a foreigner as well as a traitor?” The warrior bleated. The guard admitted that it was the King’s seal, as well as the assembly’s and that she was allowed to enter.

“Begone, fool. The dwarves will not hear from your false king today.” Isabeaux face was a study in cockiness; she was ready to give Loghain pause. Alistair’s jaw dropped and then he smiled; he too was ready to show that the wardens were done running. Isabeaux called to her power and let fire dance on her hand. Loghain’s minion sputtered and challenged them to a fight. Isabeaux’s smile turned from cocky to pure wickedness as she nodded her assent.

She and Alistair faced off against four of Loghain’s men. She controlled the battle using magic and Alistair used his sword and shield to beat the others into submission. Finding themselves beaten, the men submitted to the two wardens. Isabeaux reached down and grabbed his chin, looking deep into one man’s eyes, she spoke softly.

“Tell Loghain that the time is coming and soon, he will need to pay for his crimes against Ferelden and the Grey Wardens.” She let go of the man with a jerk of her hand. She looked over at the defeated men and healed them just enough to limp off the mountain turned away. 

“Was that wise Isabeaux?” Alistair took her hand in his and kissed it. She loved that he was unafraid of her power.

“I’m not about to slaughter a beaten enemy. I am not Loghain, and now, if they survive, he will have one more thing to think about. We will need to be prepared for him, and now, he needs to prepare for us.” She set her face in a grim line as she watched the men run, then it softened as she looked at him. “Let’s get this done love. I don’t relish staying underground longer than I need to. We still have to figure out where Haven is.” 

“We will Izzy.” Alistair leaned in and kissed her, never tiring of the feeling of her lips against his. She melted into him before remembering where they were.

“We should go. Let’s get the others and get this over with.”


	47. Valos Atredum

Isabeaux walked into the mountain with trepidation. She wasn’t sure how comfortable she was going to be burrowing miles under the mountain. The first room was a hallway filled with the oddest statues. Isabeaux paused; Alistair squeezed the hand he held and then pulled her gently along. Sten stopped in front of one of the statues and then looked at another one very like it just a little further down the walkway. 

“Is it just me, or do all of the statues look alike?” The deep rumbling of the Qunari’s voice was almost lost in the constant sounds within the dwarven compound. Isabeaux heard it and chuckled quietly. She had learned of Sten’s love of art during their last stay at Redcliffe. He could talk for hours about styles and artists, and Isabeaux was a willing audience. The Qunari appeared to appreciate her willingness to learn new things and was not nearly as disparaging about the Qun, his religion, as many of the other companions. Sten looked over at Isabeaux and grinned.

Isabeaux turned to see how the other companions were dealing with their strange surroundings. Morrigan was apparently unimpressed with it all, but the occasional wide-eyed glance belied her apathy. Roland and Leliana were both staring openly all around them. Wynne and Zevran appeared to take everything in stride along with Alistair. Alistair would occasionally look down at Isabeaux and smile, kissing her hand absently as they made their way to the commons of Orzammar.

A guard at the door opened it with a great deal of pomp and circumstance. They all entered the commons in time to see a group of dwarves fighting and attacking one another. One of the guards tried to break it up but the combatants turned their blades on him. Alistair started to go toward the scuffle but Isabeaux held him back. 

“We should go and help them.” Alistair’s voice was low but urgent. Isabeaux still held him back but this time she added a shake of her head. Instead of fighting her, he waited and watched. The guard who had attempted to intervene was dead, but others were injured and Isabeaux took the time to heal them. Then Isabeaux and Alistair spoke to one of the guards. The combatants were the rival parties for the two contenders for the throne. 

Isabeaux looked at Alistair. “It appears that our streak has continued, another people, more conflict.” 

“We will figure it out, my love.” Alistair smiled at her before turning to the guard to ask questions about the city, and the men who had been fighting. Isabeaux slipped her hand free and walked over to a dwarven woman who was wringing her hands. Isabeaux spoke quietly to her, and found that the woman, Nerav was in support of Lord Harrowmont, a contender for the dwarven throne. Isabeaux continued to push gently for information and eventually had to explain that she and Alistair were Grey Wardens. At that information, Nerav paled and excused herself quickly. 

They were to find that many of the dwarves, while stating that they were honored to meet a warden were nervous and would avoid both eye contact and questions. After three hours, Isabeaux was willing to leave the dwarves to their convoluted method of politics but Alistair convinced her to give them a chance. They were directed to the Assembly in the Diamond Quarter. 

The Assembly Leader couldn’t help them either; directing them to speak with either Dulin Forender or Vartag Gavorn. Isabeaux apologized for the inconvenience that they represented and asked if there would be accommodations for her and her companions until the matter had been decided. The Assembly Leader stated that normally the wardens were housed in the Palace, which Isabeaux immediately vetoed. They couldn’t be seen as preferring one candidate over the other until she and Alistair had time to meet with both Harrowmont and Behlen. The Assembly Leader sent them to the Shaperate, who would be able to help them. 

The Shaperate was of little help in the matter of housing but it provided a great deal of assistance in learning the history and politics of Orzammar. Finally someone was found that would rent a house near the Deep Roads to the wardens and their companions. Alistair delegated Wynne and Sten to be in charge of setting up the accommodations while the others were to help out. He then suggested to Isabeaux that they should talk to both of the seconds to figure out who they should support in the bid for the throne. Isabeaux nodded and let him lead the way.

The first man they ran into was Vartag Gavorn. He wouldn’t speak about his patron, Behlen, only tell them tales about the duplicitous nature of Harrowmont. Isabeaux said nothing, letting Alistair make the negotiations. He handled Gavorn like a true statesman, making no promises or guarantees of support. Isabeaux looked on with a smile on her face; Alistair would make an excellent king. She felt the familiar twist in her heart as she remembered that she would not be able to keep her love, he had a greater destiny.

The sadness must have shown on her face, because as they left Gavorn, Alistair asked her what was wrong.

“Nothing love. Let’s not borrow trouble. We have enough here to occupy us.” She looked away, afraid that he was quickly becoming far to attuned to her moods. Alistair grabbed her wrist and pulled her roughly against him and taking her mouth. When he finally let her go, he held her chin so that she could only look in his eyes. 

“I will not let you go, Isabeaux. You are mine, as I am yours. Remember that.” Alistair’s face was somber before he claimed her mouth a second time. “Now, let us go meet Forender.” Isabeaux nodded and allowed Alistair to lead her. 

They found Dulin Forender in the tavern. He was far more genial and forthcoming. Isabeaux knew that both seconds were hiding something but at least Dulin was tolerable. After speaking with Vartag, she felt the need for a bath. Both men wanted a show of loyalty to their patron. Where Vartag wanted her to deliver news of double dealing, and wouldn’t reveal his sources, Dulin suggested that either Alistair or Isabeaux fight in the Provings to show whom the ancestor’s favored. Dulin looked both wardens over and chose Isabeaux as Harrowmont’s champion. Alistair thought it over and looked at Isabeaux, who shrugged. She didn’t care who they supported as long as they would support the treaty. Alistair sealed the bargain with Dulin and as the Provings were to be held the very next day, they went to the rented house to get some rest.

Wynne pulled Isabeaux aside almost immediately after entering the house. 

“I have been thinking about the fate of the Circle and I believe that you would be a good candidate to help bring it back to full glory.” Wynne’s vote of confidence put Isabeaux on edge. For weeks, Wynne was constantly telling her she wasn’t good enough and now, Isabeaux was perfect?

“Wynne, I think you would be better suited. I am a Grey Warden now, and forever. I was sent from the Circle, remember?” Isabeaux didn’t want this conversation, she wanted to go to whatever room she had been assigned and either fall asleep or fall into Alistair’s arms.

“I am not long for this world, dear. You, have the strength of conviction and the power to turn the Circle around. Your journeys through Ferelden would give you an advantage in rebuilding the Circle. Just… think about it. Please?” It was obvious that Wynne still thought that Isabeaux wasn’t an appropriate consort for the heir to the throne, but she was good enough to be caged for the rest of her life. Isabeaux smiled in a non-committal way at the older mage and went to the room she would share with Alistair.

Alistair was waiting in the doorway for her as Isabeaux walked down the hall. Her eyes were on the floor and she almost missed him.

“Isabeaux? What did Wynne want?” Alistair sounded worried. She lifted tear stained eyes up to him and fell into his arms. Alistair immediately wrapped his arms about her and pulled her into the room, shutting the door behind them with his foot. When Isabeaux was finally able to talk, Alistair listened sympathetically.

“Izzy? You aren’t going back to the Circle except to visit. I can promise you that. You are a warden first and foremost.” Alistair’s words soothed her fears and stopped her tears. At least as king, she thought, he could do that much for me. She allowed him to lower her to the uncomfortably small bed before kissing him passionately. He urged her to rest for a while, with promises that he would wake her soon for one of their frequent bouts of lovemaking. As she nodded off to sleep she heard Alistair murmur in her ear. “You may be a warden, love, but you are mine and I’m not letting you go, ever; even if it costs me the throne.”

*~*

They were awakened by a pounding on the bedroom door. Some dwarven guards had arrived to escort Harrowmont’s champion to the Proving grounds. She would be allowed to take three others with her should she make it the final round. Alistair buckled on his armor far more quickly than she, and then he moved to help her.

“You are taking me. Who else is coming?” Alistair’s voice was brusque and efficient.

“Sten and Zevran.” She didn’t even have to think about it. She loved Leliana but the bard was prone to taking unnecessary risks. She wouldn’t take the other three because of the group dynamics. Alistair nodded and ran to grab both men. Sten was dressed already and Zevran ran out of his room buckling on his gear as he moved. The four of them were out the door following the guard. Wynne said that the rest would be in the stands watching them.

The Proving Grounds were huge, and Isabeaux was almost able to forget that she was underground. The Proving Master was surprised to see an elf volunteering to fight on behalf of a dwarf. She just smiled her sweetest and prepared to fight. She had left her staff at home and carried Duncan’s sword and dagger. Before Isabeaux walked out onto the sands, she kissed both blades, as Sten had taught her, sending a small prayer to Duncan that he help see her through the fights.

The first three fights went fairly quickly. The first contender was self-important man with delusions of adequacy. Isabeaux almost felt bad punching a hole in his little bubble of self-worth. The second round Isabeaux fought against twins. She had no problem using her magic to augment the swords she wielded. Quietly she gave thanks to Duncan, Isabela, Alistair, Sten and even Roland for their multiple lessons on swordplay. The twins were quickly dispatched. Then Isabeaux faced one of the Silent Sisters, a member of a cult that would cut out their own tongues in honor of one of their Paragons. Isabeaux inclined her head in a gesture of respect before the fight. She was getting tired, but in the end, she had come out victorious. 

Coming off the sands for the first time in three rounds, she heard Alistair telling the Proving Master that she would need a break to gather her strength. After getting the Proving Master’s agreement, Alistair took Isabeaux to a secluded corner and checked to see that she was alright. She smiled at his worry. 

“In the next round I fight with a second.” Isabeaux wanted Alistair but he was taking on the role of facilitator and she didn’t want to presume.

“Then I had best get ready then.” He grinned at her. “I’m not letting you in that arena with Zevran, who knows what liberties he would take.”

“I could take Sten.” She grinned back at him, glad that he was going to join her.

“You could, but you won’t. I’m ready when you are.” He pulled her in and kissed her. Then leaned in and whispered in her ear, “mine.” She couldn’t stop smiling as they walked back to the Proving Master to take on the next round.

The battle with seconds lasted just over five minutes. The dwarf fell first to her blade and then the ground, hitting it with a wet thump. One more round and they would be done, the team challenge. Sten and Zevran walked out onto the sands and smiled at her. 

“You have fought well, Kadan.” Sten said. “Now, let us show these men how the Beresaad fight.” The Qunari bared his teeth and was tickled to see one of the dwarves back up.

The battle commenced. All three men formed a protective arc around Isabeaux who rained fire and ice down upon their opponents. Blade and magic worked together to decimate the best that the dwarves had to offer. When the last man fell, Isabeaux turned toward the box of the Proving Master and bowed. The dwarf was impressed with both her honor and courteousness. The crowd in the arena went wild as she stood there and listened to the honors being laid at her feet. Alistair took her hand and kissed it, smiling at her.

When the accolades had been given, and they were allowed to leave, Dulin Forender picked them up at the entrance to the Proving Grounds. He was thrilled with their performance and was tasked by his patron to bring the Champion and her companions to his home in the Diamond Quarter. The time had come to meet the man they would support for the throne.


	48. Veata

Lord Harrowmont was a handsome man in his later years, and seemed to be genuinely saddened by the chain of events that had led to the problems in Orzammar. He spoke fondly of the late King and two of his sons. He told Isabeaux and Alistair about how the eldest son had been found dead in the deep roads with the King’s second child, his daughter standing over him. The King had no choice and had banished his daughter to the deep roads without even considering sending her to the Legion. A dwarf alone in the deep roads had little to no chance to survive; that decision almost killed the King. Later, there was news that Behlen, the youngest son, had been the one to orchestrate the whole thing. Harrowmont had to watch as his friend died of betrayal.

Isabeaux felt sympathy for the late King and his children but little for the two men who were vying for the throne. Alistair asked some questions about the King’s last wishes and other political matters. Isabeaux took the time to extend her senses. She could feel darkspawn pushing just beyond the borders of the Orzammar and had the urge to go find and kill as many of the spawn as she could. Her mind came back just in time to hear Harrowmont explain that he couldn’t even consider becoming King because there were difficulties with a group of people called the Carta and their leader, Jarvia. Alistair appeared to come more alert at the mention of the Carta. She looked at him but he shook his head, she would have to wait to hear the news.

Isabeaux promised to take care of the Carta and bring Jarvia in alive if at all possible. Then they walked out of the wealthy sector of Orzammar and walked all the way down to the poorest sector to find a way in to the criminal underworld of the dwarves. About halfway there, Alistair pulled her to a stop.

“Are we really going to do this now?” Alistair seemed concerned, but Isabeaux couldn’t figure out why. Zevran and Sten just looked at the two wardens. Zevran smirked at them as they continued to discuss the situation. 

“Yes… well I am going to do this now. I can hardly stand being here and I can feel the spawn pushing in. I feel trapped.” Isabeaux was almost itching to get out of Orzammar, she couldn’t tell what time it was or how long they had been there. She turned her eyes up to Alistair, pleading with him to get this done. Alistair leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose.

“If it is that important to you, then we will take care of this now. Do you have any idea where to start?” She looked at her love and realized that he didn’t think she could find it.

“Give me twenty minutes alone in Dust Town. I’ll come collect the three of you at the tavern when I get the information.” Isabueax stroked the side of his face gently.

“All right, I’ll give you one ale to find the information that we need. Then I am going to come find you if you aren’t back.” He chuckled and gathered the other two men with him to go to the tavern. Isabeaux watched them go and took a deep breath without having people following her and question her decisions. She grinned and walked into Dust Town and allowed her heart to ache for the number of poor among the dwarven people. She realized that humans could always find a way out of the dirt, and elves had two choices be poor in the city or run for the woods and the Dalish. There was only the dirt for the poor of Orzammar and none of them could be anything else. She walked up to one of the poor branded souls that she had spoken with before. Ten silver was all it cost to find the information about the Carta. She noticed some odd individuals gathering down an alley and she went to investigate. Isabeaux realized her mistake as more dwarves moved in and cut off her exit.

“My dear, you took too long. Would you like to introduce me to your new friends?” Alistair’s voice was filled with mirth and sarcasm. Isabeaux looked at him and rolled her eyes. She was happy to see him certainly, but now he was going to be intolerable with gloating.

“I believe the lady we seek employs these kind gentlemen. They are of the Carta, I believe.” She grinned slightly before taking three of the men out on her own. Once they were all subdued, she searched the bodies and found one of the tokens that would allow them to enter. “We have what we need, and since you are already here, let’s get going.”

They made their way into the tunnels, fighting through the various thugs the Carta employed. Layer by layer they worked their way down through the Carta’s hideout. Isabeaux was getting more and more uneasy as they walked further into the earth. 

“Are you all right, Izzy?” Alistair looked worriedly at her.

“I don’t like being down here. I want to get this over with and maybe we can leave.” Izzy was jumpy and agitated. Alistair motioned for the other two men to move a bit further away. When they had gone far enough, Alistair took her face in both of his hands and kissed her. It was meant to be a light, distracting kiss but it shifted quickly into a more passionate, deeper kiss than he had given her yet. She melted against him and moaned into his mouth as her passion rose. He pulled back reluctantly and looked deeply into her eyes.

“I want to be out of here as much as you. I want to take you somewhere, where it’s just us, no one else around. I want you wrapped around me, moaning.” He whispered all of these things in her ear and felt her shiver against him. “So, let’s get this done and see about making our desires come true.”

“When did you start playing unfairly?” She grinned at him and was rewarded with another soft kiss.

“I learned from the best. Let’s get this done.” He leaned in and kissed her one last time and then pulled her along toward the men.

Hours later, Isabeaux was tired, angry and covered in blood. She groaned at the thought of another fight and looked at Alistair. He was also blood spattered and tired looking but he smiled at her, thinking about the bath they would share later. They were standing in front of yet another door. Isabeaux hoped that it was the last door and behind it they would find the elusive Jarvia. She tested the portal and was happy to see that it was unlocked. The room it led into was huge with a single woman standing in the center. Along the walls, were even more of the Carta’s men. Isabeaux straightened her shoulders and walked in as if she did this every day. 

“So, Harrowmont finally realized that we were taking over the city, and yet he still couldn’t be bothered to send his own men?” The woman scoffed at the foursome. Isabeaux raised her eyebrow and then securing her staff, pulled out the dagger and sword that she had used in the Provings.

“You can surrender and live. Or you can fight, and die. I have no preference, except that it happens quickly.” Isabeaux waited to see what the woman would do.

“Kill them all, except for the pretty one. I have plans for her.” Jarvia snarled her orders to her men.

Isabeaux leaned in to Zevran and smiled. “I think she was talking about you.” The Antivan laughed at the joke and brandished his weapons.

“She’ll have to catch me first. I like foreplay.” That was the last any of them spoke for a while. When it was over, the Carta was broken and Jarvia lay dead. Isabeaux leaned against the wall, exhausted from the battle. Alistair leaned over and told her that they needed to get proof for Harrowmont. The four of them worked hard to take anything of value to sell and just enough proof for Harrowmont. She walked through a hidden passage back up to the merchant level of the dwarven city. They slipped through the streets, ignoring the shocked looks at their bloodied and gore stained faces. Alistair ushered everyone into the rented house. All of them grateful that the dwarves had indoor plumbing, the water warmed by the lava flows that surrounded Orzammar. 

Alistair ran the bath for him and Isabeaux, testing the water before leading her into the stone tub. They scrubbed each other clean and then Alistair drained the tub and refilled it, so that he could relax with Isabeaux in his arms. Grateful that she was so patient with him, he took his time leading her to the edge of breathless desire. Knowing that they needed to slake their passions, he led her from the tub and onto the bed. He moved slowly, pushing her need and desire higher and harder than ever before. He was buried within her when she broke and he enjoyed riding the wave of her pleasure before finding his own. Alistair kissed her deeply before pulling her tightly to him and falling deeply asleep. Isabeaux snuggled against him and kissed his chest as she too succumbed to sleep.


	49. Stelata Negat

The nightmares hit both of them hard and fast. The archdemon screeching its song making both wardens tremble and quake with need. For Isabeaux, the words of the song were loud and clear. The archdemon was promising to allow Alistair to live if Isabeaux would stop fighting against the spawn. Over and over, the creature killed Alistair in her dream until the crying screams brought the whole house into the room she shared. Alistair, the man who normally tended her in such cases, was also held in the archdemon’s nightmarish grip. When Isabeaux came to, she was being held in Zevran’s arms. The Antivan elf was gently stroking her hair, oblivious to her state of undress and focused completely on comforting her. Wynne had Alistair in a similar hold, rocking him as he shook still unseeing.

Zevran immediately loosened his hold when he knew that she was lucid. Isabeaux immediately took Alistair out of Wynne’s arms and held him tightly to her breast, stroking his head and whispering softly in his ear. All of the companions withdrew as both wardens woke and calmed down. Zevran ushered everyone out of the door and closed it behind him. Alistair sobbed against Isabeaux as silent tears streamed down her face. Finally sure that they were alone and awake, Isabeaux pulled Alistair’s face up to hers and kissed him ardently. 

“I thought I had lost you. I watched as the archdemon killed you again and again.” He was still shaken and gripped her against him tightly.

“I don’t want to stay here, Alistair. It’s never been this strong. Let’s finish and leave, please.” Isabeaux buried her head in his shoulder and trembled.

Alistair’s hand roved across her back and slowly the feel of her skin broke the spell of the archdemon. His caresses grew more heated and soon both were sliding against each other passionately. It was no longer a matter of worrying about the spawn or archdemon, only the two of them existed and Alistair entered Isabeaux with the sole intent of erasing the nightmares. When they finally parted, sated and warm, Alistair chuckled, drawing an odd look from Isabeaux.

“Are you aware that you were in Zevran’s arms, naked and he didn’t grope you?” Alistair ran his finger along her jaw. “Not that I ever want to see you in his arms again… ever.” She laughed softly, glad that he was back.

“It’s worse here.” Her voice was soft.

“Then let’s see about making a king and then go.” Alistair kissed her again before sliding away from her, to dress. He looked back and saw her still sprawled on the bed and dropped his clothing. She chuckled lustily as Alistair came to her again.

*~*

The messenger arrived about an hour after having delivered the missive to Harrowmont. The dwarven lord was asking to see them again. This time, Alistair and Isabeaux went to see him with only Zevran in tow. Zevran had returned to his gentle teasing of Alistair, giving him pointers on lovemaking and lasting power. Isabeaux rolled her eyes but was glad to see that Alistair, while still blushing, threw his own teasing comments back at the elf. Their banter almost softened the blow of Harrowmont’s admission.

He had been glad to hear of the Carta’s demise and showed honest remorse at the death of their leader. He stated that he would have been happier had she been brought in to face justice. Isabeaux refrained from telling him that she had received justice, and the only kind she really deserved. All of their work had been for naught, however. Behlen had raised the stakes once more, calling for an assembly vote in two days and Harrowmont wanted a little more fuel for the fire. His next request almost floored Isabeaux.

“I need you to go into the deep roads and look for the paragon, Branka.” Harrowmont’s voice was sad, as if he knew that sending anyone into the deep roads was a death sentence. Isabeaux shivered and could almost hear the archdemon laughing at her fear. 

Branka, it turned out, was made a paragon for developing a new form of smokeless fuel and had gone into the deep roads to search for an ancient technology that would help the dwarves make a dent in the darkspawn incursion. Harrowmont handed over a map to Alistair and asked for them to go into the deep roads to find the missing paragon. Alistair opened the map and then called Isabeaux over. She looked at the map and saw that it wasn’t complete. When she said as much to Harrowmont, the man actually looked embarrassed.

“The map you hold was copied from the ancient maps within the shaperate. Much of what we have has been damaged through time. The map itself might only be of minor assistance to you, as part of the roads may be damaged from a lack of maintenance and the darkspawn themselves.” Harrowmont’s tone was practiced as if he had rehearsed his little speech more than once. Isabeaux looked at him steadily and opened herself to her power. He wasn’t lying, of that she was sure, but he also didn’t believe that they could find a paragon in two days when others had gone searching for years.

Alistair looked at Isabeaux and nodded. He was for going in search of this woman; it might be their only chance to get the support for the Blight. Isabeaux looked over at Zevran who shrugged. She took a deep breath and faced the dwarven lord. 

“All right, Lord Harrowmont. We will go search for your Paragon.” Isabeaux put some of her power behind the words and watched as the lord smiled gratefully. He bowed politely to the wardens and offered to help them prepare to enter the deep roads. The lord also sent off a messenger to tell the guards who watched the deep roads for any darkspawn activity to be ready for the wardens and their companions.

Alistair and Isabeaux left the lord’s estate with Zevran in tow. They stopped by the rented house to let the others know they would be going to the deep roads. Both Alistair and Isabeaux tried to convince Zevran not to come along and even wanted the others to pack up and go back to Redcliffe, under the condition that if they didn’t come back within a month to gather the armies they had and defend Ferelden as best they could. None of them were budging, although Morrigan did comment on the sense of it all. Zevran ignored their suggestion to stay behind and was packed and ready to go before either warden. 

Sten stopped Isabeaux as she was leaving the house.

“Kadan? Are you sure about this? I could accompany you to fight the darkspawn as you search futilely for a dwarf that is probably dead.” His voice rumbled and made her grin reluctantly.

“I appreciate your offer Sten, but I need you with the others. You are the only one I can trust to keep them in line.” Sten wasn’t happy with her words but nodded his acceptance. Alistair watched and grinned at how the large Qunari deferred to the diminutive elf. Alistair nodded at the door and Isabeaux smiled in acknowledgment. Before she could follow Alistair out of the door she was stopped once more, this time by Roland.

“Take care of yourself Isabeaux. Come back to us in one piece, we need you.” He spoke earnestly and held her gaze. Slowly he leaned in and kissed her gently, then touched her face softly. His feelings were right on the surface and wanted to hear her promise to come back… to him.

“We will be fine, Roland. Alistair and I will be fine. And, we will be back in just a few days, with the Paragon or not.” She touched his hand and then walked out of the house, not looking back.

The house they had rented was near the deep roads entrance and they fully expected to make it to the guards without incident, but were stopped by another dwarf that reeked slightly of alcohol. 

“Stranger! Have you seen a Grey Warden hereabouts? I’ve been privy to the rumor that he… or was it she - - you have to understand this was many mugs ago - - was searching for Branka on Lord Harrowmont’s command.” The man’s words were slurred a bit and Isabeaux grinned slightly.

“Oh? What does this Grey Warden look like?” She kept her tone light. Alistair put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her slightly closer to him. The drunken man had a huge axe slung over his back and if enraged, Alistair couldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t be harmed. If the dwarf noticed, he didn’t seem offended. Instead, he decided to answer Isabeaux’s question honestly.

“Stout and muscular, fair of face, but with a strong jaw and a bold nose, surrounded by a great glowing nimbus. If she’s a woman, she might be more slight but her eyes will shine with the light of purity and her large but chaste bosom will heave magnificently. I’ve been looking for hours, but I haven’t seen anyone who looks like that. Very frustrating.”

Isabeaux fought the urge to look down at her own chest to see if her bosom heaved. Zevran leaned in though and said in a loud whisper, “Few heave as magnificently as yours.”

“None of the Grey Wardens I know look like that.” Isabeaux answered with a slight smile.

“Seriously? You’re the Warden? I mean, THE GREY WARDEN? Well, if you’re the best they’ve got, then standards must have fallen way down. But, I suppose that would account for an elf being down here. Say, could I ask you for a favor.” The dwarf was like a rolling boulder, unwieldy, unstoppable and a huge pain.

“Why not? Everyone else does.” Isabeaux was coming to realize that the dwarf was immune to sarcasm.

“Name’s Oghren, and if you’ve ever heard of me before, it’s probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong. And that’s mostly true, but the part they never say is how I’m the only one still trying to save our only Paragon. And if you’re looking for Branka, I’m the only one who knows what she was looking for which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her.”

Alistair was surprised that the man hadn’t fallen over piss drunk yet and chimed in.

“We heard that she was looking for an ancient technology.”

“Aye. Lots of folks know that, but you don’t know what right?” The man barely allowed for them all to shake their heads no before plowing on. “I know what Branka wanted and how she was looking. You, I assume, know whatever Harrowmont’s men have dug up on where exactly she disappeared. If we pool our knowledge, we stand a chance of finding Branka. Otherwise, good sodding luck.” The dwarf crossed his arms and waited for them to come to consensus. Isabeaux sighed.

“Don’t I have enough armed lunatics following me already?” Alistair would have taken umbrage, but he heard the sarcastic tone. Zevran tried to point out that he wasn’t a lunatic only eccentric. The dwarf chose to ignore the tone altogether.

“Perfect! What’s one more?” The dwarf rubbed his hands together and cackled gleefully.

Isabeaux motioned him to join them and then showed him the map. All of them talked about the best place to start looking and made plans to go directly to Caridin’s Cross, the last known location of the Paragon. Then all of them walked past the guards and into the darkness of the deep roads. Isabeaux’s skin crawled and her senses came alive as she felt the sheer number darkspawn that awaited them. She trembled slightly and sought Alistair’s hand. He squeezed it gently and when she looked in his eyes, she saw that he felt them too. Alistair showed only confidence that they would defeat their foe, so Isabeaux could do no less.


	50. Amgeforn

If it hadn’t been for a couple of Behlen’s henchmen, Isabeaux would have believed that the only thing housed in the deep roads was darkspawn. For hours they wandered lost in Caridin’s Cross, killing darkspawn and trying to find a way around the many collapsed tunnels to Ortan Thaig. It was as if months of traveling were leading to this. She tried to conserve her magic, falling back more and more on her sword and dagger. The bow was almost useless in the cramped curving tunnels. She had started pushing Alistair to use his Templar talents more as they encountered more spawn with magic. When his attempts failed, she would focus on draining their magical pool and open them up to the more mundane type of attack. Before they had finished clearing out Caridin’s Cross, all four were covered in blood and gore. Only the newest member, Oghren, was comfortable in that state. Fortunately the armor they all wore prevented the blood from being little more than a smelly nuisance.

When they finally reached Ortan Thaig, Isabeaux hesitated a moment. She could feel the souls trapped within the stone. Her hand touched the rock and the pain of dying men rushed through her. Alistair started to move toward her and Zevran stopped him. Slowly she pulled her hand away, the energy from the stone ebbing. She looked up and met Oghren’s eyes.

“Tell me about Ortan Thaig.” Her voice was scratchy. She had seen the downfall of the Thaig but didn’t know how it came to be. Isabeaux was certain that she would be careful about touching anything again while she was in the roads though. Oghren told of how the Paragon Caridin, a smith of great renown, was born in Ortan Thaig before the rise of the darkspawn and had preferred it to the Thaig he was given upon rising to Paragon. The whole of the Thaig had become the stuff of legend, but no one living could tell of its fall. 

Alistair walked closer to Isabeaux as they made their way through a tunnel that led away from yet another cave-in. 

“What happened?” His tone was equal parts curious and worried.

“The souls are trapped in the stone. It would appear that the dwarves are correct about how they return to it after they die.” She made a face.

“How… how do you know?” 

“Spirits are attracted to mages, regardless of where they are. However, unlike demons they don’t wish to possess a living soul, but they do feed off of it. I am really learning to not like this place.” Isabeaux grimaced at the memory of the souls in pain; souls she could not help.

Alistair gave her a one armed hug, and stretched his senses out to find the spawn. They were here, hiding, but not in the numbers they had seen in the Cross.

They fought through some spawn, although the resistance was minor. The greater danger was the giant spiders that hungered, as they hid in between the stalactites. Eventually, they reached the stone ruins of Ortan Thaig. Unlike the Cross or Orzammar, Ortan was lit with phosphorescent lichen and the eerie, glowing, steaming river.

Hiding among the corpses of the spawn and ancient dead they came upon a scavenger who called himself Ruck. The poor creature had survived by drinking darkspawn blood and from Isabeaux’s inspection he didn’t have long left to live. Ruck was able to tell them a little about Branka’s camp and gave them some insight into which direction to head. 

A tremor took over Ruck and Isabeaux eased him to the ground, unable to ignore the pain of a creature, even one so far gone as Ruck. The tainted dwarf slid a loosened lock of her hair between his fingers. 

“Pretty lady, pretty hair. With eyes like the burning water. So… pretty.” The dwarf tried to stay awake, but Isabeaux used her magic to ease him to sleep and took away some of his pain. The men were unhappy with her need to make the tainted creature comfortable. Zevran had gone so far as to suggest killing the poor thing. Isabeaux ignored him and when she was satisfied that Ruck would sleep comfortably she ushered the men out before her.

They followed Ruck’s directions and after another bout with giant spiders, Alistair found Branka’s journal. The four of them read it and after, Oghren was all fired up to go to Bownammar, city of the dead and home of the dead trenches.

“Well, with a name like that, how can we refuse?” Zevran quipped. The darkness was getting to all of them.

*~*

They had walked for an eternity in darkness. Eventually the darkness gave way to the deep orange glow of the magma flow. Turning the corner the four of them were faced with a chasm filled with darkspawn. For a brief moment, Isabeaux considered throwing all of her magic down upon them. Alistair touched her arm. With his touch, Isabeaux could hear the song. The darkspawn were reacting with the presence of the archdemon. Isabeaux was pulled closer to the edge and only Alistair’s touch kept her anchored enough to crouch near the brink of nothingness. The song got louder and louder until Isabeaux had the urge to clap her hands over her ears. The darkspawn reacted joyfully; thousands below grunted and roared their ecstasy. 

From the caverns beyond the chasm erupted the largest dragon that Isabeaux had seen outside of her dreams. The creature turned and looked directly at the wardens before issuing a challenging howl. The dragon’s skin was a blackish-purple with red tainted pustules all over its body, an old god tainted with hate. Unable to resist the temptation, Isabeaux unslung her bow and fired one shot at the dragon. It either didn’t hit or didn’t bother the archdemon one whit, as it bellowed its directions to the horde below and then flew off into another set of caverns leading to the surface. If there had been any doubt that this was a blight, Alistair and Isabeaux had seen first-hand that the archdemon had risen. 

Isabeaux, shaken and pale, looked at Alistair. His resolve to finish this blight was written squarely on his face. Isabeaux made a promise to herself, no matter what; Alistair would survive this horrible time even if she had to sacrifice herself to do it.

Alistair looked down at Isabeaux as she stared up at him. She hadn’t moved since the archdemon made its appearance. The look on her face scared him; he still hadn’t talked to her about her using blood magic to heal him. Alistair had wanted to, but each time she either fell silent or was adamant about needing him to live. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t performed the ritual herself, she had decided that it was necessary. Alistair held out his hand and helped her up, pulling her into his arms for a much needed embrace. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her and stay there, but they still had work to do and little time to accomplish it. 

“When we are done with this, we need to talk, my love.” His words were gruff and softly spoken. She pulled back sharply and looked into his eyes. All she saw in the blue-green depths was love and worry. Alistair took advantage of her shock to pull her into a deep kiss, soothing each other’s nerves. The chuckles behind them broke the embrace before they got too carried away. 

Sounds of a battle prevented any possible conversations after that. Alistair turned toward the sound first and pulling his blade free ran toward the fight. The other three were right on his heels. There was a small contingent of dwarves, the first they’d seen since Caridin’s Cross, fighting against a rising tide of darkspawn. 

Isabeaux pulled up as much power as she could muster and threw up a shield between the dwarves and the spawn while healing as many of the wounded dwarves as she could. Her heart stopped for a second as Alistair rushed into a knot of darkspawn and disappeared under the tide. Zevran was slashing his way into the fray and Oghren was right behind wielding his axe like a scythe as haying time.

Isabeaux dropped the shield and ran into the horde, alternating between setting the creatures on fire and freezing them solid. Feeling her magical strength falter, she pulled out her blades and started slicing through the spawn nearest her. When the wave was broken, she took out her bow and saw Zevran doing the same. Together, they picked off as many of the distant spawn as they could. Slowly Isabeaux and Alistair led the others across the bridge, decimating the line of Spawn. On the far side of the bridge, she saw two things that chilled her heart. One was a necromantic darkspawn mage and the other was an ogre. She had to choose which one to kill, because she wouldn’t have time for both. 

Flicking a glance at Alistair, she leveled her bow at the mage. Isabeaux took a slow, deep breath, making the mage her entire focus. The battle raged around her, but the only thing that mattered was that one creature. Finally she loosed her arrow, watching it fly slowly to the mage and smiled briefly as she saw it spear the creature through its right eye. The spawn stood still for a second before crumpling. Alistair was screaming something, and the battle sounds came back like a wave. 

Isabeaux felt herself being picked up by the ogre, in a minute she would be flung lifeless to the ground. Her arms were free and taking a breath, she tried freezing the creature. The spell worked, but she was exhausted and had to try and wiggle out of the tight grip before the spell wore off. Alistair was below her hacking at the ogre’s frozen body, then with an odd cracking noise, the ogre shattered in a thousand pieces. Isabeaux fell heavily to the ground, her breath rushing out of her.

She groped in her pack for a lyrium potion, finding one and gulping it down, she threw what little magic it gave her into enchanting the weapons of her allies. With each swipe of the blade or cut of an arrow, the darkspawn were burned with a magical fire. Isabeaux struggled to her feet, unwilling to waste a health poultice until the battle was done and she could rest. Duncan’s sword was almost too heavy for her to wield, and she had to use both hands to control it. Alistair was trying to keep the spawn from getting close enough for her to use it. Oghren was near him, still dragging his blade through the bodies and cutting a swath in the almost unending line of darkspawn. Zevran was next to her, helping her to stand and fight.


	51. Kalna

When the battle was done, Alistair tended to Isabeaux’s wounds first, pushing food and health poultices on her. He looked just as tired but the slight grin showed that he was still riding the battle high. When he was sure she was on the mend, Alistair drug her into his arms and kissed her soundly, dragging his lips across her skin, breathing her in deep. Alistair even went so far as to drag her into a clean dark corner to run his hands over her body, supposedly to check for injury, but they both knew that they just needed the reassurance of touch. Far too soon they parted; both frustrated with wanting but assured that they would live. Alistair whispered a number of naughty ideas into her ear and Isabeaux hoped that she would have both the time and energy to try them out. She blushed sweetly before walking back to tend the others. Zevran grinned knowingly at both wardens before allowing himself to be tended. 

After she had healed all that she could, Isabeaux turned to the dwarves that had been fighting when they arrived. The leader of the company looked at Isabeaux and Alistair, greeting them as they came closer.

“Atrast vala, Grey Wardens.” The commander looked at Isabeaux, his eyebrows raised high on his tattooed face. “I’ve never seen one of your kind in the Deep Roads.” Isabeaux took this to mean that he’d never seen an elf down in the deep.

“But… you know I’m a Grey Warden?” She seemed suspicious that he would know what she was just by looking.

“I recognize a fighter of darkspawn. It marks you. It’s why we in the Legion of the Dead abandon our lives, so we can face the spawn without fear. It’s a sacrifice I understand Grey Wardens are familiar with.” His head fell to the side as he considered Isabeaux, it was apparent that she was a contradiction in his eyes, somehow. 

“I am Isabeaux, and yes I’m a Grey Warden, as is my companion Alistair.” The dwarf nodded and introduced himself as Kardol. Isabeaux felt more in common with the scruffy tattooed dwarf than any of the nobles of Orzammar. “I am looking for allies.” 

“It’s an odd tactic, recruiting from the front lines.” The dwarf laughed at her request, but didn’t deny her outright. “The darkspawn pitch their camps in our tunnels between your ‘Blights’ you know. Give me a dwarven reason to look topside.” He had challenged her and they both knew she had no ready answer. 

“Not being a dwarf… what would work?” Her honesty elicited another laugh from the gruff man.

“What do you want here?” 

“I’m looking for the Paragon Branka.” The look on the dwarf’s face showed Isabeaux that he thought it was as big a waste of time as she did.

“Who put this dull idea in your head? We’ve got other things to worry about in Orzammar… ah, I see. The deep lords in the Assembly can’t make up their minds, so the pretenders need added influence, I get that right?” The dwarf’s mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. Isabeaux gave an honest smile of her own.

“That’s about right. You have anything useful to add?”

“Wardens, you’ve got your work cut your for you. Paragon Branka is dead, everyone with sense knows it. Past our line, the darkspawn kill everything.” The words held a finality and Isabeaux considered what he had said. Her smiling mouth flattened. Many dismissed her because she was small, pretty and delicate, because she was a mage and not a fighter. Her eyes narrowed, and Kardol had the sense to take a step back. The next words she spoke were low and held no room for argument.

“Is that so? Then move your line.” Isabeaux looked away from the dwarf and checked that her blades and bow were secure, then strapped her staff to her back. When she looked at Kardol, the dwarf showed his anger at the impotence of the dwarven government.

“I would gladly lead an assault through the Dead Trenches but without an ass on the throne, we have no orders. I won’t take fool’s gold from a pretender. If you want to go digging blind, you go right ahead.” Isabeaux understood his frustration; there would be no going forward against the archdemon without the dwarven lands in support. She nodded and started to head off deeper into the trenches.

“ Goodbye and good luck Kardol.” Her voice was soft and whispered against the stone.

“Good luck Grey Warden.” Kardol raised his hand in farewell. “And wardens?” He waited until both Alistair and Isabeaux had turned their heads, “Drunks make poor allies.”

Isabeaux considered Kardol’s words and knew that he was talking about Oghren. What Kardol did not know, however, was that Oghren had proved his worth ten times over any of the Legion, especially in the last fight. Oghren might be a drunkard and obsessed with finding Branka, but he was a damn good fighter and knew when to lead and when to follow. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Alistair giving her silent support and offering her his strength. She smiled at him and touched his hand in thanks. She was not looking forward to fighting through more spawn in this futile hunt but she had a job to do.

*~*

The Dead Trenches were an apt name for the place, spirits and darkspawn infested the place. They fought for hours just trying to gain a few meters. Breaks in between the darkspawn were celebrated by sitting and resting. Few words were shared between companions; none were really needed. The four of them fought well together and Isabeaux was glad there were only a few of them working hard to make it through the maze of incomprehensible tunnels. Something was changing in the tunnels though. They were beginning to look less like the carved stone of the dwarves and more like the circle tower as it was when the abominations were everywhere. Fleshy sacks and pustules pulsed and oozed on the walls. 

“Meat is not a good decoration.” Alistair tried to inject a bit of humor to lessen the horror of the moment. Zevran smiled.

“It is better than the smell of nug shit and body odor at least, but only barely.” 

All four companions laughed at Alistair’s and Zevran’s comments but the levity didn’t last long. An eerie voice slipped along the pulsing walls, calling to the creatures within.

First day they come and catch everyone.  
Second day they beat us and eat some for meat. 

Isabeaux paled, the voice was feminine and insane. Whatever had been done to the female was still waiting for them. The men surreptitiously surrounded her, preparing to protect her from the unknown. Instead of worrying about the men’s actions, she reached inward and delved to the depths of her ability. Saving and storing it for the next big fight.

Third day the men are all gnawed on again  
Fourth day we wait and fear for our fate.

The voice was coming from somewhere ahead of them. Isabeaux swallowed hard against the nausea the images brought to her.

Fifth day they return and it’s another girl’s turn  
Sixth day her screams we hear in our dreams

The architecture changed again, the walls were polished underneath the flesh. Used cooking spits were littered about as were bones. In some spots, pools of a clear liquid gathered. Isabeaux shuddered as her mind tortured her with imaginary monsters.

 

Seventh day she grew as in her mouth they spew  
Eighth day we hated as she is violated

They breached the room and saw a solitary dwarven woman, digging through and eating something grotesque, in between slurps of her food, she was reciting the poem. Isabeaux broke through the stunned men to see the poor creature, its skin pale and covered in thick black spots, her corruption further along than Ruck’s. 

 

Ninth day she grins as she devours her kin  
Now she does feast as she’s become the beast

Isabeaux’s boot scuffed the floor slightly and drew the woman’s attention. Her eyes showed the infected state, and although obviously starved, the woman attempted to stand and survey her visitors. Only Isabeaux seemed to hold her attention for any length, the woman’s hand reached out to Isabeaux, seeking comfort.

“What is this? An elf? Exotic and impossible. Feeding time brings only kith and kin.” The woman’s voice was soft, musical and tortured.

“I am no dream, I can help. Please, let me help you.” Isabeaux reached forward with her power, trying to sense the depth of corruption.

“No! No, you can’t. There’s nothing left. There’s body and there’s hope, and both are turning…” The tainted woman turned and looked off to some distant horizon. “They come. They… they vomit, they violate and they chant. They scream, oh how they scream, and then the change comes. All I could do was wish that Laryn went first; I wished it upon her so that I would be spared. But I had to watch. I had to see the change. How do you endure that? How did Branka endure?”

At the sound of the Paragon’s name, all were spurred into action, but only Isabeaux spoke.

“What change? What have they done? What are they doing?” 

The woman reached out and touched Isabeaux’s belly, rubbed it lightly, almost erotically. Isabeaux’s skin crawled as she knew and no longer needed the words, but the woman spoke them anyway.

“What they are allowed to do. What they think they must. And Branka… her lover and I could not turn her. Forgive her, but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she has become.”

“A lover in the dark? No wonder she left Oghren.” Zevran spoke quietly so as not to disturb the tainted woman’s rant. 

“That explains a lot. Of course, I knew she had those interests, I could’ve made some adjustments.” Oghren’s voice was equally low, and his statement odd enough that it pulled Isabeaux’s mind from the horror the woman had experienced to wonder what adjustments Oghren would have made. The reprieve was short lived as the woman kept talking.

“There is too much darkness here. The Anvil, it is in the darkness, surrounded by it, pulling Branka in. No… I swore not to speak of it, not to think of it. I will not hear any more about Branka.” The woman had removed her hand from Isabeaux to pull and scratch at her own skin.

“I can end this for you. Tell us what we need to know.” Isabeaux reached out and touched the woman’s hand, trying to heal and give her hope, even though there was none.

“End this? I am full of them, only a step from Laryn! I dream I am away, with you, but real safety… that means accepting and I will not. I will not become what I have seen! Not Laryn! Not Branka!” With a surprising swiftness, the woman broke from Isabeaux and fled further into the complex.

Isabeaux and the others followed her, hoping she would lead them to Branka. They had lost sight of the woman but her words whispered along the stone, directing them. They heard of the horrors that Branka’s house endured, how they had been fed to the spawn, the women given as playthings or worse. As they followed the voice, the smell had become overpowering. Isabeaux stumbled to a corner and lost everything she had eaten that day. Embarrassed to have vomited, she refused to make eye contact, but everyone looked green. Isabeaux quickly swished water around her mouth before spitting it out. The air was foul and Isabeaux wished for the smell of unwashed bodies. No matter how bad the tower had smelled when they were there, this was so many times worse. The voice was still speaking and they moved slowly toward it, more cautious as they heard movement in the distance.

“Broodmother.” Isabeaux stopped. The others looked at her as she quickly unstrapped her blades, whatever a broodmother was, had to be in front of her and she knew, from the sound, it was dangerous.

Nothing would have prepared any of them for the sight of the bloated, gray body sporting arms and tentacles. There was movement within the creatures from that spoke of life waiting to burst out. Isabeaux didn’t wait for the men to react, she grabbed her power and started to throw spell after spell at it, draining life from it when she could, paralyzing it to allow the men to hack at its many limbs. The creature screamed and darkspawn appeared from various caves attacking them forcing their focus to be pulled from the great gray creature. Isabeaux ran forward, her magic ebbing, her blades slicing through the spawn. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Alistair stumble and fall, as did Zevran. Both were alive, but barely. Isabeaux centered her focus on the broodmother, as long as it lived; all of them were in danger. Oghren moved to protect the fallen as Isabeaux slipped to the side of the broodmother and started to slice through the thick flesh. Puss and blood leaked from every cut. Ignoring the gore, Isabeaux used her slices to climb the great creature until she was astride its neck. The tentacles couldn’t quite reach her and Isabeaux sliced through the thick grotesque neck. 

Isabeaux was flung backwards and cracked her head on the stone wall behind her. As the broodmother flailed about dying, Isabeaux could barely see a small soul escaping from the creature, Laryn. The soul whispered a thank you as Isabeaux fought to stay conscious.

Alistair limped over to her, checking her for wounds and talking to keep her awake. Zevran also came over, handing both of them healing potions and taking care of the rest of their injuries. Oghren laughed at the dent in his helm and used a relatively clean rock to bang it back out. High above them the dwarven woman watched. Her voice reached them and they all looked up.

“That’s where they come from. That’s why they hate us… that’s why they need us, that’s why they hate us. But the true abomination is not that it occurred but that it was allowed. Branka… my love… The stone had punished my dream-friend; I am dying from something worse than death.” 

The four watched as the woman jumped from the cliff behind the broodmother toward the magma below; her last words echoing off the walls. 

“Betrayal.”


	52. Atrast Nal Tunsha

Isabeaux was angry at the heretofore unseen Branka. The woman had gone off in search of some artifact no one believed existed, left her husband behind, sacrificed her entire house and was the reason that Isabeaux and Alistair were allowing themselves to be sacrificed in an attempt to gain support for a treaty that shouldn’t have even been in contention. Isabeaux swore that she was going to ring this woman’s neck when she finally found her, resurrecting the selfish bitch if she had to.

“What’s on your mind, love?” Alistair’s voice broke through her anger.

“Reflecting on our trip to the deep roads is all. Do you mind that when the calling comes we choose to drop ourselves off a cliff instead? I think when this is done; I will have had my fill of darkspawn.” She grumbled most of it under her breath but he still seemed to hear it all.

“Only if I get to go with you.” He hugged her from behind and both of them feeling the strain of the day. She didn’t know how far they had traveled or how long they had been gone, but each step felt like forever.

The four of them trudged forward and were surprised when they triggered a trap that blocked the return path. Isabeaux sighed, she didn’t have the magic left to attack anything, but the slight rest they had taken in the less fetid air of the passage leading from the broodmother’s chamber had helped her to regain some of her physical strength. 

In front of them stood a strong, proud dwarven woman. 

“Well shave my back and call me an elf! Branka? By the stone, I barely recognized you.” Isabeaux tried not to smack some sense into Oghren, understanding his joy at finding his wife alive, but still angry that this woman was the reason she was down here.

“Oghren. It figures you’d eventually find your way here. Hopefully, you can find your way back more easily. And how should I address you? Hired sword for the latest lordling to come looking for me? Or just the only one who didn’t mind Oghren’s ale-breath?” Branka sounded just this side of insane and Isabeaux’s fingers itched to grab her bow and plant an arrow in her.

“Be respectful woman! You’re talking to a Grey Warden!” At least Oghren was loyal, if nothing else.

“Ah, so an important errand boy, then. I suppose something serious has happened. Is King Endrin dead? That seems most likely. He was on the old and wheezy side.” The more Branka talked the more that Isabeaux wanted to leave her there, especially if the others wouldn’t let Isabeaux kill her.

“King Endrin is dead, yes, and the Assembly is deadlocked.” Isabeaux spoke through clenched teeth.

“Then what is your involvement in this? Why would a surfacer be interested in dwarven politics? You must have a patron. A highly-placed patron. And they must want something in particular, now what would that be?” The snide tone was beginning to get on everyone’s nerves, even the easy going Zevran, who chose to speak up.

“What do you think he wants?”

“I don’t care. I don’t care if the Assembly puts a drunken monkey on the throne. Because our protector, our great invention, the thing that once made our armies the envy of the world, is lost to the very darkspawn it should be fighting. The Anvil of the Void! The means by which the ancients forged their army of golems and held off the first archdemon ever to rise. It’s here! So close I can taste it.” Isabeaux looked at Alistair and was gratified to see that he thought Branka was insane as well.

“But of course, there is a catch. One only we can solve?” Isabeaux figured there had to be a catch, there was always a catch.

“The Anvil lies on the other side of a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself. My people and I have given body and soul to unlocking its secrets. This is what is important. This has lasting meaning. If I succeed, the dwarven people benefit. Kings, politics… all that is transitory.” Her tirade was getting old. As far as Isabeaux could see, this woman might have orchestrated the whole thing, but like every noble leader, she led from the rear. “I’ve given up everything and would sacrifice anything to get the Anvil of the Void.”

“Does that include Hespith and the others of your house?” Isabeaux’s words dripped acid, but Branka neither noticed nor cared.

“Enough questions! If you wish me to get involved with this imbecilic election, I must first have the Anvil. There is now, only one way out, Warden. Forward. Through Caridin’s maze and out to where the Anvil waits.” Branka motioned with her arm toward a cave far across a plane littered with dwarven and darkspawn bodies. Isabeaux rolled her eyes, like she hadn’t killed enough darkspawn yet. Oghren tried one last ditch effort to reason with his wife.

“What has this place done to you? I remember marrying a girl you could talk one for one minute and see her brilliance.”

“I am your Paragon.” Branka spoke these words and moved higher on the battlements; a player readying to move her pawns. Isabeaux waited for a minute, breathing deeply and asking the good spirits to give her the strength to fight through this last set of tasks and if she were to fall, to let Alistair live and end the Blight. Taking a chance, Isabeaux walked over to one of the brightly glowing deposits of raw lyrium and touched it, letting its power burn through her and refresh her magical strength.

The first wave of darkspawn crashed over them and it was a hard battle pushing across the field to reach the cave. Isabeaux worked hard not using her magic. The cave was also filled with darkspawn but she still refrained from using her magic. Instead, she hung back a little with Zevran and they fired arrows into the horde, sowing confusion and allowing the warriors to clean up in battle. 

After the cave was cleared, they gave themselves some time to rest and heal. They could hear Branka in the distance climbing down the ramparts. Alistair urged them all up and on. Once they found the Anvil, they could take everything back to Orzammar and then the wardens could be on their way. Isabeaux and Zevran muttered about it being easier to kill the crazy person and say they couldn’t find her. 

They walked through the cave which connected with a tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel was a room. From twenty feet away, they could smell the gas. Isabeaux offered to go in; at least she could cast some magic to reduce the amount of gas she inhaled. Once she’d managed to close one valve though, a golem came to life. The three men came barreling in while she worked furiously to close all the open valves to clear the room. Oghren was the only one injured in the fight against the golems as he was knocked across the room. Happy that they had figured out the puzzle to the room, they exited to the other side. Isabeaux wanted to turn the gas back on but Alistair pointed out that it might cause the group to separate as the door would once again close. Allowing him to encourage her to go on, she mumbled her discontent, which at least gained her a conciliatory kiss on the cheek.

The second room necessitated both Zevran and Isabeaux to disarm traps embedded in the floor. With each trap disarmed, more golems came to life. Isabeaux reasoned that by the time they reached the anvil, at least they would be able to destroy the creatures when Branka truly snapped and sent the stone creatures on a rampage. The final room of tests was a strange column of stone faces that would call upon the spirits of the dead. The four had to defeat the spirits and then use the anvils to break the column. Zevran wondered aloud if Caridin had designed the tests to discourage people from wanting to make golems as they all seem so angry. Isabeaux smiled and said that they were made to discourage and kill if necessary. The thought of death sobered them all and they moved on hoping that they would find the Anvil so the ordeal would be over.

None of them expected to meet with another Paragon, especially the Paragon Caridin who had been preserved in the body of a golem. He told them of the tale of the Anvil, how it had been built to preserve the dwarven culture from the onslaught of the darkspawn invasion. At first, the golems were created from the souls of volunteers, but as the war raged on the King of Orzammar started sending political prisoners as well as criminals to be made into golems. No one was safe as the King became more paranoid. When Caridin objected, he too was made into a stone man. Eventually he hid the Anvil away from everyone because as a golem he no longer had the power to destroy the Anvil.

It was about this time that Branka the insane came charging in to the room. Zevran and Oghren were both in favor of keeping the Anvil and using Branka to help with the Assembly but all Isabeaux could see was Uldred in his quest for power and ringing in her ears were the last words of Hespith who had been given to the darkspawn as leverage for this quest. Alistair suggested siding with Caridin and Isabeaux agreed. Zevran and Oghren had not fought against Uldred and could not see how the idea of power was already affecting Branka’s mind. 

To prove Isabeaux’s point, Branka used a control rod to turn the stone creatures against the four of them. She didn’t even care that Zevran and Oghren were on her side, as far as Branka was concerned everyone could be collateral damage and she would be victorious. Isabeaux let the others fight against the golems she focused entirely on Branka, using her elemental spells as well as drain life spells to wear her down. When the dwarven woman was beginning to stagger, Isabeaux moved in swiftly, brandishing her blades. Within minutes of the fight starting, Branka was dead and the golems inactive. 

In gratitude, Caridin fashioned a crown for the new King, bidding her to give it to whom they wished. Isabeaux walked sedately up to the giant anvil and considered how to destroy it. She touched the giant creation and could feel the energies of the souls that had been ripped from their bodies to find homes in new stone cradles. The anguish of those long ago people still rippled in the metal. Gently she wished each of those entities a good rest and lifted Caridin’s hammer. She took what was left of her own magical strength and channeled it into one heavy blow. The anvil shattered and the hammer was blasted from her hands into the flowing magma far below.

Caridin came up to her, thanking her for destroying his greatest creation. He too had found peace. His heavy stone hand touched Isabeaux’s shoulder for a brief moment.

“You have my eternal thanks stranger. Atrast nal tunsha… may you always find your way in the dark.”

Isabeaux watched as another amazing creature consigned itself to the fires within the stone, all because of one man’s creation. With a heavy heart she faced Oghren, he had found and lost his wife. She could tell that it pained him; the years spent looking only to find that she loved an object, not him. Brushing off his sympathy, he looked at her appraisingly.

“Well, that pretty much beat the sod out of how I imagined it. You ready to head back yet. Share the news?”

Isabeaux looked at her other two companions.

“Let’s go while a new king can still be of use to us. We will need a bath first; I do not want to be in any more confined spaces still smelling like dead broodmother.”

Oghren laughed.

“Eh. Those deshyrs have been trying to destroy the city for years and haven’t managed yet.” 

Slowly the trudged back to the main entrance of the Deep Roads, the guards surprised to see them again. Instead of speaking however, they all retired to the house to bathe and then force the assembly to meet.


	53. Amgarrak

Isabeaux hurriedly bathed while Alistair waited, knowing full well that they would have preferred to share the water, bathing always led to other things. She tried to rinse her hair, but soap threatened to get in her eyes. Alistair was right there to help her but then his hands started to roam. She laughed and batted at his hands. When she was done, he watched appreciatively as she dried off. Then, as if remembering what he was supposed to be doing, he ran clean water into the tub and washed quickly. As they left, clean and dry, they found everyone waiting for them. 

This time, everyone walked into the Assembly. The time for niceties had come to an end. Isabeaux, Alistair and Oghren walked forward while the others ranged around the upper balcony. The Assembly was in an uproar, partially from the inability to come to a vote, partially because ‘surfacers’ had insisted on meeting with the whole of the assembly and the two men vying for the throne.

“Lords of the Assembly! I call for order! This argument is getting us nowhere!” The Assembly Leader tried to get everyone to quiet down, to find out what the wardens knew.

“We should let the Warden speak. What news do you bring?” Harrowmont aimed his question to Alistair, as he did since their first meeting but Alistair prompted Isabeaux to speak.

“We bear a crown forged by Caridin on the Anvil of the Void.” She had hoped that would have been enough to stop even the most outspoken, but the dwarves were not ready to listen. Oghren tried to explain further.

“Caridin was trapped in the body of a golem. This warden granted him the mercy he sought, releasing him and destroying the Anvil of the Void. Before he died, Caridin forged a crown for Orzammar’s next king, chosen by the ancestors themselves!” His voice, unusually sober rang clearly throughout the hall. Behlen drew himself up to his full height to complain and argue.

“And we are supposed to trust this? The word of a drunken sot and a Grey Warden known to be in Harrowmont’s pocket?”

Isabeaux struck all emotion from her face and waited impassively holding the crown. She would have preferred to stick it on Kardol of the Legion’s head but Oghren said that no Lord of the Assembly would accept him as king. Isabeaux had thought it a pity, but listened to the man more versed in dwarven politics than she. The Assembly Leader raised his voice again, this time accepting the crown from Isabeaux for inspection.

“Silence! This crown is of Paragon make and bears House Ortan’s ancient seal. Tell us, Warden, whom did Caridin choose?” 

She looked at the Assembly Leader and spoke as if the question needn’t be asked, the surprise her only lie. “He cared not for your politics and asked that I give it to whom I chose.”

Behlen was in an uproar, sounding like a petty child.

“The Grey Warden knows nothing about us! Why would a Paragon entrust someone like this with such a weighty decision? This is ridiculous!”

“We’ve argued in these chambers for too long. The will of the Paragon is that the Grey Warden decides.” The Assembly leader’s voice was seconded by many of the other assembly members.

“I would grant the crown to Harrowmont,” her clear eyes landing on the older statesman, again without emotion.

“I appreciate your forthrightness, Warden. You have acted with grace through this entire torturous process." He smiled slightly and inclined his head in respect for her work.

Behlen exploded once more.

“I will not abide by this! Would you let a surfacer decide the fate of the dwarves?” He and his supporters drew their weapons but before even one of them could start to fight, they fell down dead. Everyone turned to Isabeaux, who was just then lowering her hands. Her face was stone, angry that these men would allow people like Branka to kill an entire house of people or Behlen who would have slaughtered everyone in the assembly if he could, run amok. She had spent the entire time that people were bickering gathering her energy and let it out in one blast. Wynne and Morrigan, standing in the balcony, had never seen anyone control that much power before. Alistair looked around himself impressed with her control, never once doubting that she could have done that. Everyone else seemed a little more wary of the slight mage, afraid to anger her. 

Harrowmont, newly crowned King, approached the wardens cautiously. When Isabeaux smiled slightly, he relaxed.

“I admit, I did not think even Behlen would defy the word of a Paragon, nor that so many would follow him. But most of Orzammar has seen him for what he really is, and I trust that we will bring this insurgency under control.” He hoped that she would not demand proof of this. Instead, her smile widened a bit and addressed the new King.

“I have faith in you, King Harrowmont.” 

“Indeed. More than anyone save my wife, Warden, and I thank you for it. Those loyal to the throne will begin preparations for a surface mission immediately. Orzammar will fulfill its treaties.” The voice was gruff with the acknowledgment of her words.

“Thank you, King Harrowmont. Perhaps your rule will mark a new era for Orzammar.” Alistair sounded every inch the King and as he clasped the new King’s hand, Isabeaux could see him in the role. She tucked away the hurt that accompanied the truth and stepped away from him, letting him take the glory. When her love looked at her, she smiled and let him take her hand. Everyone would pack quickly to head to the surface. Oghren had asked Alistair if he could join the group and both he and Isabeaux had agreed he could. He too, raced to ready himself to face the blight. 

Isabeaux wondered how much of the world had changed since they went beneath the ground and hoped there was still some time left before the biggest decisions had to be made.


	54. First Explanations

Isabeaux took a deep breath as they left Orzammar. She had hung back a little, encouraging Alistair lead. Isabeaux was more worried about their newest member and how he would react to breaching the surface for the first time in his life. She looked down at him as he stepped out of the giant doors. The small man looked surprised and a little nervous as he took in the bright morning sky.

“Are you going to be okay?” Isabeaux spoke quietly, although Sten did slow his step and look back at them.

“Just… give me a minute. I feel like I’m going to fall off into that big sky up there.” Oghren couldn’t pull his eyes away from the open vastness.

“Take your time. It’s a lot to adjust to.” Isabeaux made a pretense of not looking at him as the dwarf pulled himself together.

“I’m good, let’s go, we’re wasting… what do you call it? Daylight.” Oghren mumbled and hurried to the rest of the group. Isabeaux watched him go and then picked up the pace until she caught up to Sten. Oghren was already joking with Zevran and Roland, the two men doing their best to make the dwarf comfortable. Isabeaux sighed; Alistair was in front talking to Wynne, and not having a good time of it, if his expression was any clue.

“You are a kind leader, Kadan, but is it wise to bring someone along with such an obvious handicap?” Sten watched the dwarven warrior with trepidation.

“If you will please remember, Sten, that you thought I was handicapped when we first met. Now, you seem to be fine with my leadership.” She touched the Qunari’s arm. The Qunari hesitated for a second and then placed his much larger hand over hers and looked down into her face. She had turned up toward him and smiled. The Arishok would be surprised at such a woman, she was bas saarebas as well as an ashkaari, but the only word that now defined her was kadan. Isabeaux had become part of the Qunari’s heart as his sword, the one she’d found for him was asala, his soul. She laughed and the world brightened, prompting Sten to vow to keep her safe.

 

*~*

Camp was a loud and raucous affair as Oghren found his place within the companions. He and Sten would stand the final watch, Leliana and Zevran the first with Wynne and Roland taking the second. Alistair and Isabeaux found themselves with a night free from responsibility. 

“Isabeaux, would you mind taking a walk with me?” Alistair’s words were softly spoken and his hand was a tempting invitation. She would have to account for her actions of late, and a walk away from the camp was an easy way to accomplish it. Isabeaux placed her hand in his, but was unprepared for Alistair stripping off her glove so that he could tenderly kiss her hand. He took the glove off her other hand and lifted her hands to intertwine around his neck. Feeling safe that she wouldn’t pull away, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in. His head dropped down and his lips sought hers, nibbling at the edges until she opened to him. When he leaned back to look at her, his smile was sweet.

“I like this version of walking better, but I doubt that our companions want to watch us standing here kissing.” She teased him gently, unable to not smile at him.

“All right, come on. I will take you into the woods to ravish you.” He whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

They walked silently away from the camp, careful not to stray too far, but wanting at least the illusion of privacy. The woods absorbed the sound of their footsteps and when the campfire was a soft light in the distance, Alistair stopped. He leaned against a tree and pulled her into him.

“We should talk Alistair. I know you have questions. I can see them in your face.” She chewed lightly on her lip, wanting to get the uncomfortable part of the evening over with.

“Not yet. Not until I am sure that you are still you.” He held her tight against him with one arm and used his free hand to lift her face to his. “I need to taste you; I have gone all day without that pleasure.”

Fitting words to deed, Alistair claimed her mouth for himself, taking his time tasting her. His tongue ran along the seam until she opened to him, moaning softly. Her hands threaded themselves into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling his mouth even closer to her. Her body pressed tightly, and she wished that they were bare, so that she could feel his skin against hers. She blushed at the thought, but didn’t move away. Slowly Alistair broke the kiss, reluctant to do so.

“We… I need to know how you managed to kill all those people in the audience chamber. You barely lifted a finger and the insurgents fell over.” His voice was soft and more powerful for all of that.

“I,” she paused trying to find the right words to explain. “I had been gathering my magic since leaving the house. Having spent so little time actually using my magic at the end of the deep roads, I actually had a decent sized pool of it. When Behlen had chosen to attack Harrowmont, I saw no other way to protect the new king. I don’t really know how I did it though.” Isabeaux couldn’t meet his eyes as she spoke, but she only spoke the honest truth.

“Hey, I’m not angry, but I need to know. It’s a bit… terrifying to know that you can pull that kind of magic at all.” He tucked his hand under her chin and lifted her face until her eyes met his. “How depleted did that kind of magic leave you?”

“Not as bad as when I went into the fade, but I was as tired as when we had fought darkspawn in the dead trenches.” Her brow furrowed as she tried to explain it, but words began to fail her. Instead of pushing that line of questioning, he kissed her softly and then waited as she collected herself. 

“So, that wasn’t blood magic, but you used it before, and we can’t be too careful. Now. About using blood magic to heal me…” His words trailed off as he stared down at her. His eyes narrowed as she trembled against him. Alistair had heard most of the story from Teagan and then during his interrogation of Jowan. She had threatened her own life to force their cooperation. “That was unacceptable. Not only did you risk your life trying to heal me, you risked your soul. What if it had invited another demon to Redcliffe, what if it entered your body or mine? What then? You know that blood magic is against Chantry Law, and yet you did it anyway. Are you above the Law, Isabeaux? I don’t care that it worked this time, that you were spared. You cannot dabble in blood magic, there is no such thing. Blood magic is evil, in any form. Do you understand that? Can you understand that? Blood magic, and the demons it brings, is why mages are feared. I have spoken to Teagan and his only comment was that you were mad with grief. Jowan said much the same thing, and took the greater share of blame. He said that it was his suggestion, not yours. Is this true? ”

She shook her head, even given an out; she would not lay blame at Jowan’s feet. Alistair’s eyes closed, torn between loving her and hating her actions. He knew it would not be the last time that she would make him feel that way. He gripped her chin, tightly in anger, and the small cry of pain stabbed at him.  
“Why Isabeaux? Why did you risk so much, because you risked both of us. You were fine, safe, whole. You risked everything, out of fear. Promise me Isabeaux. Swear that you will never risk yourself or me like that again. Isabeaux!”

Alistair shook her chin angrily again, trying to understand, trying to get her to realize her mistake. She jerked away from his grip and turned her face away. Angry, but trying to understand, he touched her face, the first of her tears fall on his hand as she shook with fear and sorrow. She turned her head away from him and no amount of coaxing would get her to look at Alistair.

“You were dying; I know that we are supposed to be stronger than the average person, but whatever kind of infection you developed, it wouldn’t respond to healing magic or any of the mundane treatments. You were barely breathing and I could feel you slipping away. If the only way to save you had been a demon, I would have gladly given myself to it, just to keep you alive. I cannot imagine this world without you; I cannot be the only Warden left. I… I…” Her voice broke on a sob and she broke away from him, turning and wrapping her arms about herself. “I had no other choice, Alistair.”

“I don’t care. No matter what happens, promise me that you will not look toward blood magic as a solution. I can hope I will never put you in that position again. But even if I am dying, do not risk yourself, your soul or mine in an effort to heal me. I can’t lose you to a demon, no matter the cost. I rather like you just the way you are. This isn’t done.” He pulled her back in, allowing her to keep her back toward him. His head bent and he kissed her neck and brushed his lips down to her collarbone. “We are both tired; let’s get some sleep. I find that I cannot sleep well without you in my arms.”

She shivered, knowing that she had not been able to sleep without him either. 

The physical demand of the past days underground had taken their toll on everyone. All of the companions were asleep with the exception of the watch and Isabeaux was certain that she and Alistair would soon follow as weariness was overtaking her. Alistair had other plans though. As soon as they entered the tent, he solicitously helped her out of her armor and tucked her under the covers and quickly joined her.

“Days without comfortable sleep or water, no privacy to hold you or banish my fears, my dear, you aren’t allowed to sleep quite yet.” His words were punctuated with hot kisses and soon she was writhing under his hands. “Thank the Maker I found you. I need you so.”

Their lovemaking was short, but passionate. Alistair, having spent the last of his energy in the exertion, tucked her tightly against him as he fell asleep. Isabeaux stayed wakeful for a few moments longer, relishing the feeling of him. Weariness overtook her though and soon, she too was fast asleep.


	55. Unsafe Haven

After days of traveling, filled with false trails and a great deal of grumbling from all, they finally stumbled across Haven, tucked high up in the hills. 

“Are you sure this is a town, it’s not on any map.” Alistair looked down and frowned at Isabeaux but knew the look on her face, she wasn’t looking at the map; she was listening to things he could not see. Her eyes cleared and then narrowed as she looked up the roughly hewn steps. Alistair looked back and saw the same narrow eyed look on Zevran’s face as well. He hadn’t asked the Antivan elf if he too could hear the spirits, choosing to tackle only one mystery at a time.

She had barely looked at him the past few days. When they had a chance for privacy, he would start on the evils of blood magic and she would silently listen and withdraw from him. At nights, she found ways to draw different watches so that while she shared the heat of her body, she did not share herself.

He’d spoken to Zevran and Wynne about her. Alistair was still angry about the ritual, but Zevran was the one who had gotten through to him. He related how Isabeaux had beaten herself up about him getting injured in the first place, and not using the last of her magic to heal him completely. Alistair was her responsibility, and Wynne had made sure that Isabeaux had known that. Zevran also recounted how she would have given anything to save him, even her own life. 

“If you do not reconcile yourself to it, then you do not deserve either her or her sacrifice, my friend.” Zevran looked at the former templar with pity as Isabeaux continued to pull away. 

What surprised the companions was the change in Isabeaux. She walked with Sten most often, talking about strategy and tactics. Isabeaux would also walk alongside Oghren, talking about Orzammar and his past. She assiduously avoided anyone who would try to talk to her about Alistair or her relationship with him. 

Now they were headed into Haven, and she stood beside Alistair, presenting a united front of wardens. The guard at the top of the steps stopped them, growling his questions. Isabeaux just looked at him blandly, her placid mask beginning to irritate Alistair, which he aimed at the guard. They were told that they could trade within the town but to make it quick and leave. Alistair sensed Isabeaux gathering her power, knowing that she wasn’t leaving anything to chance. She no longer openly carried her staff, channeling her power through Duncan’s blades.

A shift in energy told Alistair that Wynne had followed Isabeaux’s lead and was gathering her energy as well. Isabeaux had taken point, leading the group blithely up the path to the village store. Once inside, she looked around and sweetly asked about Haven. She smiled winningly and the gruff shopkeeper unbent enough to answer her questions, and she ignored it when he dodged a question. She traded what they didn’t need and flirted shamelessly with the poor man. Alistair ground his teeth at the sweetly pleasant tone. Their business done, she thanked the shopkeeper and turned to leave when she picked up a scent, sniffing the air lightly, before turning toward the back room of the shop.

“Wait! You can’t go back there! It’s private.” The shopkeeper was insistent that they leave it alone. Alistair prepared to dig in when Isabeaux turned and looked at the man. The shopkeeper took a step back as Isabeaux smiled. 

“Why not? It appears that you were not quite as forthcoming as I had hoped. You are hiding something, you can tell me, or I can look. A Warden will not be denied.” She spoke softly, but the edge on it promised pain.

“You cannot.” The shopkeeper made another attempt, but Isabeaux was quicker than either Alistair or Zevran. The man’s body constricted as if caught in an invisible trap and then fell unconscious to the floor. Isabeaux looked down at the poor man and then slipped into the back room. Alistair walked up behind her and watched as she tried to block the stench of decaying body. It didn’t stop her from checking the corpse to figure out who it had been. 

“We don’t have much time, before that man wakes up. I’m pretty sure that Brother Genitivi is here. This man was from Redcliffe.” Isabeaux was brisk and efficient as she moved through the back of the store. Alistair wanted to grab her, and make her look at him, but she slipped past him before he could. Zevran chuckled but followed Isabeaux out of the shop instead of teasing Alistair.

When they left the store, the villagers attacked. Isabeaux wanted to say she was surprised, but it seemed that every single time they had to help someone, she ended up being attacked. Deciding that the poor deluded fools of Haven didn’t deserve her to use magic on them, Wynne could if she wanted too. All Isabeaux wanted was a straight answer. She didn’t care about their beliefs, they could keep them. She just wanted the brother and needed the ashes. Isabeaux rolled her eyes and slashed her weapon at the nearest villager. She channeled her anger and frustration at the journey, at Alistair, at everything toward the people of Haven. She continued to slash her way through the villagers, and turned, almost stabbing Alistair.

“Hey! Isabeaux?” He blocked her thrust and grabbed her, cutting through the battle haze and looked at her. Her eyes cleared and she focused on him, for the first time in days. Isabeaux’s first instinct was to throw herself into his arms, but she stopped herself and stepped back. Pain flashed in his eyes and she wanted to soothe it. The knowledge that she wanted to take away his hurt made her step back again and look away. 

“Sorry. We should… we should check out the rest of the village and see if we can figure out what is going on here, it’s just not right.” She looked away quickly, trying to put more space between them. She walked back down to the entrance of the village and followed her senses to another house and forced her way inside. The house was empty but the sense that something was wrong still pervaded. She turned and saw an altar that was halfway in shadow. She walked forward and could feel the pain that was clinging to it, present in the blood.

“Used for food preparation, perhaps?” The joking tone Alistair used slapped at her. For days he had been nagging her about having used blood magic and now, he was making a joke of it? Isabeaux frowned and reigned in her temper.

“Does meat usually bleed that much.” Alistair winced at the biting tone but when he looked at her, Isabeaux’s face was blank. Zevran touched her shoulder and she shifted out from under him. The Antivan commented on how the Crows would often do a blood sacrifice giving them uncanny abilities before particularly difficult jobs. Isabeaux looked at him and smiled softly, but didn’t move back toward him. Sure that what the villagers were practicing wasn’t practiced anywhere else. 

“Well, let’s go talk to whoever is in charge. We have a job to do, and I’m not letting these people continue to give me the run around.” Isabeaux straitened her shoulders and walked out of the house. Alistair was right on her heels.

“Isabeaux, wait. We need to talk. We need a plan.” Alistair grabbed at her arm and spun her around.

“I have a plan.” She jerked her arm out of his grip. “We go find the person in charge and get answers.”

Alistair grabbed her arm again and pulled her against him, then jerked her head up and kissed her angrily.

“Wait, Alistair. Just…” Isabeaux fought against him, trying to get away.

“No, Isabeaux. I’m done waiting. I’m not sorry about trying to get it through your head that blood magic is wrong, no matter the reason. That doesn’t change the fact that I love you, or that I need you. And now you are going to listen to me. You are mine. You don’t get to bargain with a demon, because every single bit of you belongs to me. Got it?” He punctuated his declaration with another punishing kiss. His hands slid down and grabbed her flanks pulling her tightly to him. She pushed at him, but he wasn’t letting up. He pushed and walked her to a nearby tree and pinning her there, he claimed her mouth again, sliding his hand up and pressing alongside her chest plate.

“Alistair. We have work to do, we can’t do this now.” She continued to struggle against him.

“Then tell me you are mine, Isabeaux. Tell me.” He breathed the words against her ear, not letting her loose from his grip. 

“I’m yours, Alistair.” Her voice sighed in surrender. He claimed her mouth more gently after her words, nibbling gently at the corners.

“I’m sorry, Isabeaux. Did I hurt you?” He placed his forehead against hers, before trying to get her to meet his eyes. “Please look at me Izzy. Did I hurt you?”

She looked up at him, eyes swimming in tears. She had stopped squirming in his arms and his movements had become less punishing, gentler. He wouldn’t push away though, kissing her more gently, making soothing sounds.

“Do you love me Isabeaux?” His words were whispered in her ear.

“Yes.” The word was so silent he almost didn’t hear it. Finally, she relented in total surrender, “I love you Alistair. Always.”

“Always.” He echoed her last words and then kissed her softly, backing up and letting her loose. His hand trailed along her jaw, wishing they were somewhere where he could talk to her, with her. 

Zevran coughed into his hand and both wardens looked up to see Wynne and Zevran less than twenty feet away. The elf had a grin on his face, but Wynne looked disappointed at them. Isabeaux pushed him gently again, this time he backed away, letting her free. She stepped away from Alistair and tried to focus on her task again. 

“Let’s go. I think the answers we seek will be up at the Chantry.” Isabeaux’s voice was stronger than she expected. Isabeaux checked her blades and led the way up the hill. She hadn’t expended any of her magic. It was something that the other three were surprised at; she hadn’t even enhanced the blades. She was saving it for the next step, and when or if she unleashed it, it would be an immensely powerful attack. 

The Chantry was eerie, the strange singing made Isabeaux hesitate for a second at the door. She looked at Alistair and Zevran, looking for suggestions for guidance. They nodded that she should go ahead and she slipped the door open. Most of the village was there and an older man was leading the Chant.

“Father Eirik?” Isabeaux fought to keep her voice calm and respectful. She wanted to keep bloodshed to a minimum. 

“Ah, yes… welcome. I heard we had a visitor wandering about the village. I thrust you’ve enjoyed your time in Haven so far?” The man’s charismatic voice washed over her and Isabeaux fought the urge to agree with anything the man said. She used some of her power to break Eirik’s spell, and allowed her anger to wash over her, Alistair and the others. 

“Enough! We are well past pretending this village is normal. We saw bodies of the dead knights. We saw the blood sacrifices.” Her voice burned with anger.

“Perhaps, but staying hidden means staying protected… and we must protect Haven and our charges at all costs. We don’t owe you any explanations for our actions. We have a sacred duty; failure to protect HER would be a greater sin. All will be forgiven.” Eirik expended even more energy trying to lull her back to his side. The fact that he tried just irritated Isabeaux, and she narrowed her eyes as Eirik cast magic at her.

The fight was quick and bloody as the villagers attacked the wardens. When it was over, Isabeaux looked over Father Eirik’s body and her hands were drawn to a curious medallion, leaving the rest, she took the medallion and put it in her pouch. Zevran shouted with surprise as he found a hidden door. Behind it, on the floor, was an older, scholarly gentleman. 

“Who… who are you? Are you here to finish the job?” The man on the floor rasped. Isabeaux unslung her water skin to help him slake his obvious thirst. Both she and Wynne looked over the man, trying to figure out the extent of his injuries. 

“Brother Genitivi? We are here to help you.” Alistair’s voice was back to its comforting mellow tone.

“You… you aren’t from Haven? Oh, thank the Maker. I knew I was close to the Urn. I’ve heard Father Eirik and his followers talking about it.” 

“The Urn? You found it? We have been searching for the Urn for Arl Eamon.” Alistair sounded excited and nervous.

“It’s nearby, certainly. Haven lies in the shadow of the mountain that holds the Urn. There is an old temple there, built to protect it. Father Eirik wears a medallion that opens the temple door… I’ve seen what he does with it.” Isabeaux pulled the medallion out of her pouch and showed it to him. “Yes, that is the key. Take me to the mountainside and I’ll show you.” Genitivi tried to get up, but Isabeaux restrained him gently.

“You are in no position to walk right now, Brother Genitivi. Your leg is broken, and there is a serious infection going. We can set the leg, and maybe clear out the infection. I think that will relieve some of the pain you are having. But we really should get you back to Denerim where you can heal.” Isabeaux tried to reason with the man, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“It’s not far and if you will allow me to lean on you, I can make it. For the Urn, any pain is worth enduring. Help me up here. I will try not to slow us down.” He held out his hands and with the aid of magic, they got him to his feet with a minimum of pain.

“Wynne, go get Oghren. We are going to need his stone sense while in the mountain. We will meet you up the path.” Isabeaux talked quickly to the older mage who nodded.

“I’ll bring him back with me and then stay with the Brother. I believe that he will be unable to do much beyond showing us the way and if I can’t convince him to go back to the camp, I can at least wait with him.” Isabeaux nodded at the older mage and the four started up the hill while Wynne got the dwarf for the others.


	56. Strange Following

The temple was beautiful, the stone walls were cracked and the windows high in the walls were missing, dotting the snow and ice laden floor with cold light. Isabeaux was afraid of running her hands along the stone molding, fearful of the spirits that might run through the temple.

“We’re inside and I’m cold. That’s wrong on so many levels.” Oghren grumbled and then took a pull from his ever present flask. He offered it to Isabeaux first, who took a delicate drink and passed it back. The dwarf laughed at the face she made as she swallowed, but she didn’t make any comments. Zevran took a pull off the flask too, but Alistair refrained.

“Smart move.” Isabeaux whispered to Alistair but moved ahead, pushing her senses in front of her. She could tell how many people they would face and whether or not they were mages. They moved through the temple, looking at old texts and seeking the Urn. Pieces of the puzzle would appear and the four of them would hoard them, hoping to make sense of it all. They moved through the temple, fighting against strange cultists and then as the temple moved further into the mountain, dragons and wraiths. Oghren was in heaven, as he sliced through the creatures, giggling and cackling as they fell beneath his blade. 

Eventually they found a tunnel that was leading up to the surface. It had been minutes since they had been attacked and Isabeaux was beginning to get worried. Alistair put his hand on her shoulder and slowed her down. He pointed ahead of them, over her shoulder and she could barely make out the figures of men. 

“We should be careful. It looks like they are waiting for us.” His breath tickled her ear as he leaned over her to speak. She could feel his head turn as if to kiss her and she skittered away. Zevran saw the movement of both players and agreed with Isabeaux. 

“Not now friend Alistair. We have much to do.” Zevran unstrapped his blades and left them naked in his hands. Isabeaux took in a deep breath and floated her power over them, settling in their weapons. The chill of deepest winter coated their blades and would until she had exhausted her magic. Cautiously the four of them moved forward, until the figures resolved into a loose grouping of well-armed men.

“Stop! You will go no further.” The obvious head of the group held up his heavy gauntleted hand. His eyes held the light of fervent belief. Isabeaux sighed, it could never be easy.

“Who are you, if I may ask?” Isabeaux tried for sweet but was happy with non-aggressive.

“You do not have the right to demand my name. You have defiled our temple, and slaughtered our young.” The man’s voice was strident and overloud. Isabeaux wanted to ask him to lower his voice but was struck by the word young. If the man noticed her lack of attention, he didn’t let it stop him from his tirade. “No more! You will tell me now, intruder, why have you done all this? Why have you come here?”

“If you tell me your name, Ser, I will tell you why we are here.” Isabeaux smiled softly, encouraging the man to speak. The man responded in kind, smiling bemusedly at the small group.

“I am Father Kolgrim, leader and guide to the Disciples of Andraste. Kill us, and you will face Andraste. She will smell our blood and the blood of her children on you and HER wrath will be great!” Kolgrim punctuated his words with flourishes of his hands. Isabeaux pushed her magic through the room and sought out the mages, they would be the most important to disable first. He stopped talking and looked at her meaningfully. Isabeaux struggled to pull herself back to answer him.

“What are you talking about?” Isabeaux grinned. The man was thrilled to educate them.

“The prophet Andraste has overcome death itself and has returned to Her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine! Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay Her now. What hope do you have?” 

“And what has happened to the Ashes?” Alistair’s voice forced the man to look beyond Isabeaux and frowned, as if just remembering that the men were with her. She smiled again and urged Father Kolgrim to continue.

“They are still within this temple, but why do we need ashes when we serve the risen Andraste in all Her glory.” Kolgrim paused for a second and considered the small group. “So you are after the Ashes. Hmmmmm… Perhaps there is a way for you to make up your desecration of our home and temple.” His words made Isabeaux curious.

“Why do you suddenly want to cooperate with us?” She took the chance to glare at him, but the strange Father Kolgrim kept smiling.

“It may be because I believe in second chances. All of us stumble through the darkness before being found and shown the light. Perhaps through Andraste’s mercy, Her greatest enemy will become her greatest champion.” The man’s smile was positively eerie. 

“Just say what you have to say, Father Kolgrim.” Her displeasure at being played for a fool was grating on her nerves.

“The Ashes you seek reside atop this mountain, watched by an immortal guardian who refuses to accept the truth of the risen Lady. Now the Ashes prevent holy Andraste from fully realizing Her new form. They are a remnant of Her past incarnation, and She cannot move on as long as they exist. The Beloved needs to reclaim the Ashes, to make them Her own again. All it would take is a drop of her blood. Blood carries power, strength, knowledge. Through it, all the power that is held in the ashes will be returned to our Lady.” Kolgrim smiled as winningly as he could and reached out to touch Isabeaux. She shielded herself just in time to feel his magic touch her; he was using a crude form of blood magic to coerce her.

“Why have you not done this then?” She licked her lower lip and tried to let her eyes go dewy with admiration. Alistair moved to pull her back, but Zevran stopped him.

“The Guardian has foiled all our attempts to reach the Urn. He keeps what power remains from the true Andraste. He knows the Disciples, and we cannot touch him, for he draws his strength from the Ashes themselves. But, you could deliver our Lady what is rightfully Hers.” Kolgrim tried to pull her closer to him, to fold her into his power, but he could not. His brows pulled together and he focused more of his power on her.

“I could just imagine the grand cleric, if she were here. Her head would explode; I kid you not.” Alistair’s voice was dripping with frustration and it came out as humor. Isabeaux resisted the urge to look back at him, wanting Kolgrim to think his plan was working.

“The rewards for performing such a service are great indeed.” Kolgrim ran a soft touch along her jaw and she fought not to shudder.

“And won’t the Guardian know me as well?” Her voice held the sing-song of a thrall.

“No, dear. He waits for pilgrims to venerate the Urn. He will assume that you are one of these. The task is simple; I give you a vial of the holy Andraste’s blood, and you empty the vial into the Ashes. Whatever magic was held in the Ashes will be undone… and our great Lady will be freed from the shackles of Her past life.” Kolgrim smiled as she swayed slightly with the ebb and flow of his apparent power. 

“I don’t know if I like the idea of us helping this Kolgrim.” Alistair started to plead with her to consider her actions. She couldn’t look at him and ruin the ruse.

“So, if we do what this Kolgrim asks, does that mean we aren’t hunting his pet dragon? You’re going to let this opportunity slip past you? Think of the glory…” Oghren was amazed that she would drag him through this cold dark mountain and not let him try to kill a dragon. Isabeaux couldn’t keep the smile from growing on her face.

“You would hunt our Lady for sport?” Kolgrim was appalled, and his distraction allowed Isabeaux to reach past his defenses and drain his magic.

“Oh, you’ll find another one soon enough. What if we leave you a wing?” Oghren hefted his battleaxe a few times as Isabeaux started to chuckle.

“Oghren is right. Your Andraste would make a worthy trophy.” Isabeaux smiled wickedly and reached out to drain the other mages in the room.

“You dare to threaten the holy and beloved Andraste? You will die before you ever lay eyes on her.” Kolgrim’s volume rose until he was shouting.

“Better men have tried… and failed.” Isabeaux purred and thrust the point of her dagger into his throat, killing him instantly. The cavern in which they stood then burst into a storm of fire burning Kolgrim’s followers, distracting them and allowing Alistair, Zevran and Oghren to dispatch the others. Isabeaux checked Kolgrim for anything that would help them get past the dragon, because she would rather not have to fight something that could bite her in half unless she had too.

The four of them followed the tunnel out to the daylight, and were surprised that it was barely past midday. Lying high up on a mountain was the dragon. Isabeaux looked at Alistair and the others. 

“Should we try to sneak past?” She asked the question hoping the answer would be a resounding yes.

Oghren took the horn that Isabeaux had removed from Kolgrim’s body and blew it loud and hard. The dragon opened its eyes and spread her wings wide. Within seconds, the dragon was upon them. Isabeaux focused on keeping the men alive, healing them frequently as they received burns and scratches that would kill most men. She drank her lyrium potions like they were water. She drained herself over and over as she watched the fight. When she could, she froze the beast and allowed the men to hack at it without injury. Minutes passed into an eternity when finally all of them were flagging. The dragon reached her head down to snap at Alistair. 

Isabeaux barely had time to scream a warning when Alistair climbed behind the creatures head and stabbed his sword through the creature’s eye, piercing its brain. Almost immediately the dragon went into death throes and Alistair had to hold on tightly to keep from falling to the ground. When he could, he jumped off and rolled to safety. Isabeaux ran toward him, her hands running over him, looking for any hidden wounds. When her eyes and hands reached his face, he covered her hands with his. Alistair, certain of the look in her eyes, he leaned in and kissed her, putting all of his love for her in that one kiss. His hands left her face and slid down to her waist pulling her on top of him. She laughed knowing that he was okay and then struggled to get off of him.

“I need to check the others, then we need to finish this.” Isabeaux cautioned him against going too far.

“Yes, Isabeaux, we need to finish this.” He grinned wickedly and pulled her hips closer to his. “But I’ll let you check them first. Then we’ll work on getting the Urn.” 

She scrambled off of him and went to the others. Zevran had been hit hard in the head, but was all right. Oghren had suffered a heavy scratch along his side and although she could heal him, he was still in pain. They headed back to camp to get something to eat and then head back to the mountain top to face the unknown Guardian.


	57. Running the Gauntlet

Wanting to get through with the ashes as quickly as possible, Alistair suggested leaving Oghren back at camp to heal, along with Genitivi. Wynne stayed with them as well. Isabeaux allowed Alistair to choose the final companion and was surprised that he would choose Roland. The two of them had been trading odd looks as of late.

They took the same short cut that they had used to leave the temple and made it back to the mountain top in a few short minutes. It took them another half hour or so to find the entrance leading to the Guardian. Isabeaux was beginning to worry, she could sense the magic in the mountain and was fairly sure that there were heavy lyrium deposits that ran through the entire area. Carved directly into another mountain face, was a set of huge granite doors. Roland and Alistair opened both and Zevran and Isabeaux bowed facetiously as they walked through. Once inside the odd space, all of them fell silent in reverent contemplation. They moved from one small room to another until they reached a massive chamber with another set of doors. Standing in front of them was a knight dressed in armor from centuries before. Isabeaux took a deep breath and approached the knight with trepidation.

“I bid you welcome, pilgrims.” The knight’s voice came from everywhere but his mouth. The effect was eerie and unsettling. Isabeaux curtsied with grace and deference to the creature in front of them.

“You must be the Guardian.” Isabeaux dropped every ounce of magic that she had been holding fast. It seemed important that she appear to be fully open and nonthreatening.

“Yes, I am the Guardian of the Ashes. I have waited years for this.” Isabeaux saw images from her life flash briefly in front of her. In each memory, she saw the Guardian watching her. Isabeaux’s eyes narrowed, trying to figure out if these were real memories or just aspects of her memory.

“Why have you been here so long?” Isabeaux felt sad for the creature in front of her.

“It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste.”

“Will your task ever be done?” Isabeaux shuddered knowing the answer before he spoke.

“I do not know, and I do not question.”

“I would like to see the Urn, please.” Isabeaux tried to couch it as a request instead of a demand.

“You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourself worthy.” Isabeaux hoped that she wouldn’t have to challenge this creature to a battle, she was not sure that she would be considered worthy enough to reach the Urn.

“Do I… do I have to fight you?”

“It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that. If you are found worthy, you will see the Ashes and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not…” The knight looked at her and waited. She nodded her assent, knowing there was more to come.

“Before you go, there is something I must ask. I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past… your suffering, and the suffering of others. You betrayed Jowan to Irving. He was almost killed and he lost the one thing that mattered… Lily. Jowan trusted you. Tell me, do you think you failed Jowan?” The memory of what happened to her, and Jowan. She had betrayed a friend. She closed her eyes and a single tear slipped down her cheek. When she opened her eyes again, the green was swimming in sorrow.

“Yes. He was my friend. I should not have betrayed him. I should have…” Isabeaux shook her head, unable to speak.

“Thank you. That is all I wished to know.” The knight seemed happy with her answer, but the others seemed surprised.

Roland touched her arm, but she couldn’t look at him. 

“Sometimes we have to be strong enough to make difficult choices, Isabeaux.” Roland tried to be kind, but she heard the censure in his tone.

The others had to endure their worst moments, and memories being drudged up from the sewers of their minds, painful moments for both Roland and Zevran. Alistair was the last to go, and Isabeaux had recovered enough to listen to his worst moment.

“Alistair, knight and Warden… you wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield.”

“I… yes. If Duncan had been saved, and not me, everything would be better. If I’d just had the chance, maybe…” Alistair’s pained expression lit on Isabeaux for just a second and they shared both memory and feeling. His mouth opened as if he was going to speak, but her expression had changed from one of sympathy to horror. Isabeaux realized that even after all this time; Alistair didn’t care if he died. She bit her lip and looked away from him. It wasn’t time to examine their memories or their future. They had work to do.

When they had all been forced to look at their ugliest moments, the door behind the knight opened.

“The way is open. Good luck and may you find what you seek.” The Guardian vanished even as his words hung in the air. Alistair reached for Isabeaux but she had already stepped ahead of him and into the next room.

Through the course of the gauntlet, they had to answer riddles, fight shades of themselves, and then solve an odd puzzle that created a bridge out of thin air. When they had finally passed all of the tests of the mind, they came upon the test of faith. A wall of fire crossed the entire room and just before it was a small altar. Isabeaux walked up to it and read it aloud for all of them to hear.

‘Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker’s sight.’

Isabeaux glared at the small stone altar for a brief second before unbuckling her armor. Piece by piece she removed her clothing, and from the sounds behind her, the men were doing the same. Isabeaux, naked as the day she was born, refused to look back and compare the three men with her. Only Alistair had seen her unclothed and she was too shy to allow the others. Taking a deep breath, she walked through the fire and then turned to see the men doing the same. She didn’t mean to compare the men but she did anyway, smiling at their discomfort and imprinting their appearance on her memory. Alistair was the first through the flames and she turned slightly to hide herself from the other two. Before anyone really had time to become more self-conscious, the guardian was back.

“You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet; you have walked the path of Andraste, and like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, pilgrim.” The guardian touched her shoulder and she was clothed once more, as were the men.

Slowly, she climbed the steps, approaching the Urn with great solemnity. Roland and Alistair knelt in reverence for the religious artifact. Isabeaux silently gave thanks to the Maker and Andraste for leading them to the right place. 

“This is.. This is something I will never forget. Andraste be praised.” Roland’s voice was filled with reverence.

“I didn’t think anyone could succeed in finding Andraste’s final resting place… but here… here She is.” Alistair’s whisper was both proud and surprised.

“Nice vase. I should get one for my house.” Zevran’s impudence made Isabeaux laugh as she attempted to reach into the Urn for a pinch of the Ashes. Carefully, she put the remains in a small leather pouch and hoped it would be enough to restore the Arl. The four of them left the temple and made their way back to the Camp. 

Once there, they showed Brother Genitivi the Ashes. He was overjoyed at the fact that he was correct about the Urn. Genitivi wanted to tell the world about the find but Isabeaux was not so sure. She was worried about desecration. The Brother would not be dissuaded and Isabeaux thought it would be ridiculous to continue to argue with the man. She offered escort back to Denerim, but the Brother declined. He had many stops, but asked Isabeaux and the others to visit him should they return to Denerim. She nodded and saw a well provisioned Genitivi on his way. 

When she turned, she came face to face with Alistair. She schooled her expression carefully.

“About today… in the Gauntlet. The Guardian’s question…” Alistair tried to begin, but Isabeaux stopped his lips with her fingers.

“I wish I had known you would have rather died. It would have saved both of us a lot of trouble.” She took her hand from his mouth and started to walk away. Alistair grabbed at her hand and pulled her close, claiming her mouth possessively.

“No. Don’t. Let me explain. Yes, I think that if Duncan had survived over me, there wouldn’t be as many difficulties. However, I could not give you up, not then, not ever. When you came into my life, everything changed, and I need you like I need air. Mostly, what I need is for you to be happy. If I am ever to have a chance at being happy in this world, I need you to be happy. I need to make you happy. Isabeaux, I love you. I hate that you used blood magic, and opened yourself to the possibility of a demon, but I know why you did it. I think that if I had the chance to bargain for Duncan’s life, I might be tempted. Tell me you love me Isabeaux. Tell me I make you happy.” Alistair’s voice was strained with need. When she didn’t say anything at first, his face fell. Slowly, as his words sank in, she touched his face softly. Then she leaned in and kissed him gently, not allowing him to deepen the kiss.

“I love you Alistair. I need you like the air, want you like water and ache for you when you are not near.” His eyes widened at her softly spoken words and then pulled her tightly to him. He whispered in her ear.

“I saw a small pool of water nearby, we could take a quick bath before I ravish you. Please tell me that I could ravish you.” He kissed her passionately, winding her tresses around his fingers. She nodded slightly and pulled at the buckles on his armor. He laughed but didn’t stop her. “We should wait love. Let’s go to the pool and then I’ll will be happy to let you undress me.”


	58. Romantic Interlude - after Haven

Alistair led her to the edge of a secluded pond, bordered on three sides by rock. Alistair pulled her closer and his hands trembled as he started to unbuckle her armor. He kept his eyes on hers; waiting for her to stop him, or walk away as she had every other time they had been near each other in recent days. Her mouth was slightly open, and her breath came out in small pants, but she did not move away.

“Isabeaux? Talk to me, please.” Alistair leaned in as the last of the buckles gave way and he pushed the clothing off her shoulders. Her breasts bare to the chill evening, he slid his warm hands over them, caressing the tips and encouraging her arousal.

“Alistiar?” Isabeaux panted and then stepped toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I thought we were here to show each other how we feel. You can plainly see how I feel, but you are far to covered up.” Her lips sought the soft skin of his neck, kissing and biting gently. She grinned hotly as he groaned with want. His hands worked feverishly at the buckles of his own armor, trying to shed the barrier between them. Bare-chested, she rubbed the taut points of her breast against the soft hair on his chest, making both of them moan.

“I want you, but it would be better if we were both clean. Don’t you think?” Alistair kissed her earlobe, whispering hotly in her ear.

“I can’t think, not with you like this,” she moaned. Her hand reached out toward the water and tendrils of steam drifted upward.

He chuckled and stripped her trousers off and then spun her into the water. She fell with a splash and a laugh. He shoved his pants down and waded in, happy that the floor of the pond was rock, not mud. Isabeaux ducked under and scrubbed at her hair. His hands reached down and pulled her up. He lifted her until her breasts were level with his face and he kissed the water warmed skin. She gasped and wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing herself tightly to him. Alistair moved his hands from under her arms to beneath her buttocks, kneading her softly. Isabeaux squirmed and felt his hardness rubbing at her cleft. She shifted, moaning, and slid him inside her. Both moaned hotly before Alistair claimed her mouth. His tongue flicked in and out of her mouth at the same rhythm as his erection. She rocked against him, pushing him harder, begging him to come with her, inside her. Alistair clenched his teeth and feeling her release seconds before he lost control, he spilled himself deep within her. 

His legs weakened and they slipped still joined beneath the water. They separated underwater and moved away, just far enough to wash without truly leaving each other’s side. Alistair was done first and he swam over to Isabeaux. His hands helped her scrub both the blood off her skin as well as the day’s exertion. He pulled her toward the shore, and into his lap. His hands slipped between her legs and started to stroke the nub at the top of her cleft. Isabeaux arched her back and pressed herself tightly against his hand.

“That’s it love. Stay with me, show me what you want. Let me please you.” He whispered the words hotly, his breath brushing against her ear. Her body bucked as he continued to slip his fingers within her. She cried out her need as her head dropped back onto his shoulder. He continued to encourage and tease until she shattered against him a second time. Alistair kissed her neck and waited for her to recover. She turned in his embrace and encouraged him to lie back, the water just barely licking at his skin. 

Isabeaux slipped across his body, traveling lower, kissing every inch of exposed skin until she reached his staff. She looked him in the eyes as she licked up its length, grinning as he shuddered and tried to take her head in his hands. Knowing that she could not outmatch him in strength, she still took his wrists in her hands and pinned him down. Using only her mouth, she slipped him inside her, caressing him and drawing out long hot moans. Satisfied that he wouldn’t assist, Isabeaux used her hands to stimulate what her mouth could not. She heard him moan her name over and over again, encouraging her to take him deeper in her mouth. Alistair tried to control his hips, but they pumped upward seeking comfort within her lips. He grew harder, longer and wider as he got closer to his release. He cried out her name, his voice breaking just as he released himself into her mouth. She rode the wave with him and when he finally softened, she let him slip free.

“My love.” He sounded parched. She moved to slip back into the water, to rinse her mouth, but he grabbed her and pulled her along his body. When her lips were even with his, Alistair kissed her deeply, showing her his gratitude for such an act. Knowing that he would need time to recover, he rolled his love onto her back and lifted Isabeaux’s legs, bringing her cleft up out of the water. He would try to show her the same kind of attention that she lavished on him.

He slipped his fingers inside her first, to watch her face as passion overtook her. Alistair then lowered her face to her slit and slipped his tongue inside. Her eyes widened and she gasped as the first of the spasms wracked her body. He gripped her legs and laughed as her legs scissored against his cheeks. She gasped and writhed and her hips bucked against his mouth. Alistair kissed and licked and watched her shatter against his tongue.

Slowly her spasms eased and he lowered her legs from his shoulders. He leaned over her, a question in his eyes.

“Isabeaux?” His voice showed a combination of worry and smug achievement. She reached up and pulled his face closer, kissing him, tasting herself on his lips. They moaned and Alistair was rock hard once more.

“Please, Alistair. I… I need you. Please!” Her words were breathy and filled with desire. His eyes sparkled, knowing that he drove her to this level of passion. Her hips bucked against him, begging him to enter her again. He slipped between her legs and smiled as she moaned heavily. Isabeaux pulled him close, biting his neck lightly, moaning as she did so. He pulled her back into the water and spun her around. Sitting down on the rock floor, both of them immersed in the warm water, he entered her from behind, spreading her legs over his own, pushing deeper inside her than before. Alistair let her set the pace as she bucked wildly against him. Their breathing quickened as she pushed him within her over and again. His hands found her breasts and kneaded them, heightening her pleasure. She dropped her head back and onto his shoulder, baring her neck to his lips and teeth as he nipped at her skin. Faster they moved until the pleasure grew too great and they came together. 

Finally sated, he eased himself from her. Once he was free, he gathered her into his arms and held her gently, kissing her lips and along her jaw.

“I love you Isabeaux. I no longer wish to die, not like I did. I can only thank Duncan for bringing you to me. Promise me you will never leave me.” His words were soft as he continued to caress her body, cuddling her close.

“I will never leave you, Alistair.” She sighed softly against his neck. The days of fighting against her own desires, coupled with the physical and emotional exertion of the day, she wanted to fall asleep in his arms.

“Marry me, Isabeaux.” His words were barely whispered. She did not answer, she couldn’t. He would be king, but she could not be queen, she could not marry him.

She turned and kissed him hotly, and felt him stir against her again. He chuckled and lifted them both from the water.

“It’s decided then, my love.” He kissed her softly again and nuzzled her neck. They dried each other and dressed in the thinnest layer of clothing that they had brought. He led her back into camp and into the tent they shared, pulling her tightly into his arms, kissing her neck sleepily. She couldn’t resist the lure of sleep or his arms. She turned and laid her face against his chest. As she fell asleep, she wished that she would dream of a world where they could marry. Her eyes closed, and although her lips held a smile, tears slipped down her cheeks.


	59. Saving Eamon

Isabeaux woke in Alistair’s arms, and snuggled in closer. The man she loved wrapped his arms around her even tighter and kissed the top of her head.

“Good morning love.” She loved that his voice was so gravelly in the morning. Isabeaux started to rise, but he pulled her down on top of him. “Not yet. The morning hasn’t started yet.” He kissed her gently, wondering what she was thinking. She hadn’t answered his question about marrying him, but it didn’t really matter to Alistair. He knew that he was going to marry her; he just had to wear her down in time. Time, however, was running out.

“We should get going; we have to see the Arl. The ashes are our last hope of curing him.” Isabeaux put her hand on Alistair’s chest and tried to get up. He wasn’t ready to let her go quite yet.

“My life has become very dear to me, and that is because I love… you.” He punctuated his words with a kiss and she blushed delicately. Finally he let her up and watched her dress. When he didn’t move she knelt by his side.

“I love you. Always. You know that right? I love you with all my heart. I am yours.” She looked him in the eye as she spoke, trying to make him understand. He sat halfway up and catching her face in his hands, he kissed her deeply.

“All right, I will get up my love. Let’s get on the road and save the Arl.” He grumbled as he put on his armor and kept looking at her as he dressed.

“Should I leave?” Her words were lightly said and teased him.

“No, not without me.” He smiled and reached for her, but she danced out of reach, collapsing the tent on him as she ran.

*~*

They reached Redcliffe without any incidents; the sun setting as they entered the castle walls. Isabeaux and Alistair were off their mounts almost before they had stopped, leaving the others behind them in their apparent haste to get the ashes to Arl Eamon. They burst into the main reception room and found Teagan pacing the floor. He stopped when he saw Isabeaux and Alistair. He rushed toward them, clapping Alistair on the back and hugging Isabeaux.

“You return! Might you have news?” His voice was filled with anxiety and Isabeaux touched his arm, offering him sympathy and support.

“We found the Urn, Teagan.” Isabeaux opened the small leather pouch and showed the Bann the small pinch of ashes.

“You have? Is that…? That is wonderful news. Let’s go at once to Eamon’s side and see if the Urn’s healing powers live up to their reputation.” 

The three of them grabbed Wynne on their way up to the Arl’s chamber. If Isolde, who was sitting at his side had any objections, she kept them to herself. Her eyes did not leave Isabeaux as the warden walked into the Arl’s bedchamber. Isabeaux handed the pouch with the ashes to the Arl’s personal healer and waited. The man had obviously been taxing his resources, so Isabeaux augmented the healer’s power with her own. Wynne also added her energy to the healer and the three of them plus the Ashes filled the Arl with light. Eamon gasped suddenly and sat up in bed looking around him.

“Wh-where am I?” Arl Eamon sounded completely hale and hearty, with no sign of his prolonged illness.

“Be calm, Brother. You have been deathly ill for some time. Do you remember nothing?” Teagan spoke softly, trying to calm his panicked brother.

“Teagan? What are you doing here? Where is Isolde?” 

“I am here, my husband.” By the abashed tone Isolde used, Isabeaux finally saw the first glimmerings of love for the woman held for Eamon.

“And Connor? Where is my boy? Where is our son?” As the Arl spoke, Isabeaux saw that the Arl remembered everything from the Fade and before.

“He lives, though many others are dead. There is much to tell you, husband.” Isolde looked away from Eamon. The Arl paled and realized that everything he’d heard and seen during his illness was not a dream.

“Much has happened since you fell ill, Brother. Some of it will not be… easy for you to hear.” Teagan looked away from his brother as well, seeing displeasure and anger on the older man’s face.

“Then tell me. I wish to hear all of it.” 

Isabeaux bowed deeply to the Arl and backed out of the room. Wynne followed her, looking askance at the female warden. Alistair had chosen to stay in the room for a bit longer, to assure himself of his Uncle’s recovery. Isabeaux took her leave of Wynne and headed down to the dungeon, to talk to Jowan.

Teagan had been far more accommodating of a prisoner’s needs than Isolde had been. The cell Jowan was in was clean, and he had a bed, stool and desk. When Isabeaux walked toward him, he looked up and smiled slightly at her. He stood and walked to the cell door, leaned against the bars and watched her.

“Hello Isabeaux. Have you come to take me to the Circle?” Jowan seemed resigned to his fate.

“I wish things could be different, Jowan. I have spent so much time wondering if what happened to you was my doing.” She sat on the ground near the cell door. Jowan settled himself on the other side of the door, facing her. His face was calm and introspective. Jowan nodded more that he had heard than he agreed. Her hands fluttered around her knees as she spoke.

“You think that things might have turned out differently if you had not gone to Irving. Isabeaux, you cannot obsess over ‘what if’ and ‘what could have been’, that is the easy path. I have already traveled that road and found it barren. Those thoughts will just eat away at you, like they have me. You have to forgive yourself. I have already forgiven you.” His hand slid between the bars and took hold of hers, reminding her of their long ago friendship.

“I can’t let you escape, Jowan. I want to, but…” Her voice trailed off and Jowan squeezed her hand gently.

“I know my friend. I have received a letter from Irving; he and Greagoir have agreed to let me come back to the Circle to prove my willingness to change. As long as the Arl lives and can be convinced to grant me leave to go back, then…” His free hand wiped at the tears streaming down her face. She leaned her head against the bars and sighed. Jowan kissed the top of her head, and grinned sadly.

“You know that it makes me happy seeing you being the hero I could never be.” She looked at Jowan as he spoke, his smile sad but she could see the truth of his words in his eyes.

“I will do everything I can for you, Jowan.” She started to move away, but his hand tugged lightly and she looked down at him.

“I am sorry, Isabeaux. I am sorry for having put you in an untenable situation, but I am glad that it was you, and not some other mage. You always saw the best in me… in others. If I survive this, I will do what I can to make you proud.” Isabeaux watched the mage for a minute and nodded her understanding.

“Don’t do it to make me proud, Jowan. Do it to make yourself proud.” She squeezed his hand lightly once more before releasing it. “Jowan? Thank you.”

Jowan nodded and watched as she walked away. His eyes closed in prayer as he heard the heavy oak door shut.

*~*

Isabeaux was called to the audience chamber after she had made sure that all of the companions were settled comfortably. Alistair had chosen to take a room in the Grey Warden wing, happy to be in a room just across the hall from Isabeaux’s. The two of them had received the summons at the same time and Alistair made sure to kiss her twice before reaching the chamber.

When they arrived, the Arl looked up and smiled at Isabeaux. The look he gave Alistair was more reserved, but still hinted at a deep affection. He finished his conversation with Teagan before fully addressing the Wardens.

“There is much to be done that is true. But I should fist be thankful to those who have done so much. Grey Warden, you have not only saved my life but kept my family safe as well. I am in your debt. Will you permit me to offer you a reward for your service?” His voice was smooth and mellow, and it hinted at what Teagan’s would age into in the years to come.

“We need your help against the blight. That will do.” Isabeaux chose brisk efficiency especially since Alistair was unusually mute.

“I understand, but regardless of your motivations I feel you are worthy of a reward. I would like to honor your efforts, nothing more.”

“As you wish, then.” Isabeaux bowed slightly to Arl Eamon and wished he would promise her troops so that they could leave.

“Then allow me to declare you and those traveling with you champions of Redcliffe. You will always be a welcome guest within these halls. And for you, Warden, a shield of the same make as those that have been given to our finest knights.” He handed over a shield and her first thought was that he was handing a shield to a mage, how oblivious.

“Thank you, your grace.” Isabeaux kept her expression schooled.

“We should speak of Loghain, Brother. There is no telling what he will do once he learns of your recovery.” Teagan was adamant about addressing the worst of the problem.

“Loghain instigates a civil war even though the darkspawn are on our very doorstep. Long I have known him. He is a sensible man; one who never desired power.” Eamon sounded unsure of the news that Teagan had passed along. Isabeaux wanted to agree with Teagan, but she kept her own council.

“I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon. He is mad with ambition, I tell you,” Teagan growled.

“Mad indeed. Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself and destroy my lands. Whatever happened to him, Loghain must be stopped. What’s more, we can scarce afford to fight this war to its bitter end.” Eamon sounded frustrated and angry, to emotions that served no purpose.

“You can unite the nobility against Loghain, can’t you?” Isabeaux asked her question quietly.

“I could unite those opposing Loghain, yes. But not all oppose him. He has some very powerful allies. We have no time to wage a campaign against him. Someone must surrender if Ferelden is to have any chance at fighting the darkspawn.” 

“Then everything that we have done is for nothing.” Isabeaux was quiet and angry.

“No! Not at all. Loghain is responsible for heinous crimes and I intend to see him pay. But our armies must be reserved for the darkspawn, not for each other. I will spread word of Loghain’s treachery, both here and against the king. But it will be but a claim made without proof. Those claims will give Loghain’s allies pause, but we must combine it with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore. We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain’s daughter, the queen. I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable had occurred.” Eamon looked at Alistair meaningfully before returning Isabeaux’s gaze.

“So. You intend to put Alistair forward as king.” Isabeaux’s voice was flat, and her heart pinched tightly. Alistair tried to take her hand, to reassure her, but she moved slightly away.

“Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain. Alistair’s claim is by blood.” Eamon stated it as a matter of fact, and indisputable. Isabeaux said nothing.

“And what about me? Does anyone care what I want?” Alistair snarled at his Uncle, aware that Isabeaux was listening carefully but unwilling to speak her mind.

“You have a responsibility, Alistair. Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?” Eamon was an amazing statesman, and Isabeaux could understand why Alistair looked up to him.

“I…” Alistair looked at Isabeaux. She had not turned to him once since the conversation had taken this turn. “But I… no, my lord.” Alistair saw Isabeaux’s shoulders slump a little, and he wanted to comfort her.

“I see only one way to proceed. I will call for a Landsmeet, a gathering of all the Ferelden’s nobility in the city of Denerim. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or another. Then the business of fighting our true foe can begin. What say you to that, my friend? I do not wish to proceed without your blessing.” Eamon’s voice was decidedly more cheery after getting Alistair’s acquiescence. It took a minute before Isabeaux realized that the Arl was addressing her.

“My blessing, your grace? Why do you need my blessing?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm but the Arl didn’t notice.

“None of this would be possible without you. You led Alistair here; you saved my life with the Urn of Sacred Ashes… It’s your lead I follow. I am a credible enough figure in this nation to call the Landsmeet, but I hold no illusions that I could face Loghain without you. Surely you can see that. You have already found allies, but we need those to fight the darkspawn. I truly believe that the Landsmeet is our best option.”

“It seems we have little choice then, your grace.” Isabeaux’s throat hurt and she wanted to leave, but her role was not yet done.

“Very well, I will send out the word. But, before we proceed, I believe there is the matter of the mage… my son’s tutor. He still lives I understand? Teagan, I wish to see him.” 

Teagan left and returned quickly with Jowan in tow. The mage seemed genuinely glad that the Arl lived and looked at Isabeaux. When he saw her face, however, he was sure that he was going to die.

“Jowan, what you have done is not in question. You tried to assassinate me and set into motion a series of events that nearly destroyed everything I cherish. What have you to say in your defense?”

“Nothing my lord… other than to say I am sorry. I expect no mercy for what I have done.” Jowan looked at the ground afraid to meet the stone mask of Isabeaux’s face, or the angry look on the Arl’s.

“I see. Grey Warden, have you anything to say on Jowan’s behalf?” 

“I once considered him a good man and a friend. He did what he could to right his wrongs as well as aided me in healing Alistair when my fellow warden was so ill. Please, give him to the Circle of Magi.” Isabeaux didn’t look at Jowan, preferring to keep her expression neutral.

The Arl agreed and left them to make plans for the Landsmeet. They would be leaving Redcliffe as soon as everything was in motion. Isabeaux said her goodbyes to Jowan, and bolstered with a letter from her and a surprise one from Alistair, he headed off to the Circle and his new life.

Alistair tried to stop her twice as she left the audience chamber. Both times, the Arl had called for Alistair to join him and the Bann in conference. When she didn’t respond to his request, he finally let her walk back to her room. He waited until she had closed the door behind her before speaking.

“This isn’t over yet, my love. We will talk about this… soon.” He glared at the door for a second longer before joining his uncles in the war room.


	60. Unwanted Pressure

The Arl of Redcliffe’s estate in Denerim was huge, and Isabeaux felt out of place walking into such grandeur. Alistair seemed to sense her uneasiness and took her hand, kissing it gently before tucking it back into the crook of his arm.

“Relax love. Everything will work out as it is supposed to.” Alistair’s voice did much to soothe nerves. Arl Eamon watched them walk in and his face was curious mix of regret, displeasure and joy. Isabeaux hoped that Eamon was happy that Alistair had found someone, regardless of how it would play into the other man’s plans. Standing behind the Arl was Wynne and Sten. Sten’s eyes widened a bit when he saw Isabeaux and the Qunari smiled slightly. Isabeaux grinned back and had taken a few steps toward her friend when they heard a commotion behind them. The steward of the estate hurried in to announce the Teyrn of Gwaren, Loghain Mac Tir. Isabeaux released Alistair and stepped forward preparing to help Arl Eamon, should the Teyrn make another assassination attempt.

"Loghain. This is… an honor, that the regent would find time to greet me personally.” Eamon tried for a polite political approach, but Isabeaux was tired of being polite, so far it hadn’t gotten her anywhere. 

“I have come to speak for the regent. She is concerned by your insistence to call for a Landsmeet. You divide us with this farce.” Loghain’s voice still held authority and a calm insistence that one should listen to and accept his words as fact. 

“If Anora rules, then let her speak for herself.” Isabeaux’s soft comment forced Loghain and his two companions to look at her. Isabeaux recognized Ser Cauthrien, Loghain’s right hand. Isabeaux blamed her for Duncan’s death just as much as she blamed Loghain. The man who left Duncan and Cailan to die on the battlefield addressed Eamon, having dismissed her.

“And who is this, Eamon? Some new stray you picked up on the road?” Sten’s hand on her shoulder kept Isabeaux from setting the Teyrn on fire and ending it there.

“Well, at least you are admitting the “royal” part. That’s a start.” Alistair’s voice had taken on a different quality since Loghain had walked in. Isabeaux wondered if she truly knew the man she had tied herself to, but thought it would be best if she was the target and not Alistair or Eamon. 

“I am a witness to your crimes at Ostagar.” Isabeaux had opened herself fully to her power, and it coursed through her. Loghain and his companions took a step back, in recognition of her strength. Loghain’s next words were meant to provoke, but Isabeaux was beyond that, using her power to rise above his petty criticisms.

“You should curb your tongue. This is MY city, and no safe place to speak treason. For anyone. There is talk that your illness left you feeble, Eamon. Some worry that you may no longer be fit to advise Ferelden.” Loghain smiled as he spoke. “I am sorry, you do know Arl Howe, current Teyrn of Highever?” Isabeaux’s eyes widened, this was the man that had tortured Roland and killed the family he worked with and for.

“And current Arl of Denerim, since Urien’s unfortunate fate at Ostagar. The regent has been… generous to those that prove loyal.” Even the man’s voice made Isabeaux’s skin crawl. Howe’s eyes raked over her, and she felt revulsion at his leer. Sten and Alistair noticed Howe’s look and both men bristled. Isabeaux merely smiled and addressed the Arl of Denerim.

“Hmmmm. Boot licking appears to be profitable these days.” To add insult, Isabeaux batted her eyelashes flirtatiously.

“Don’t interrupt, churl. Your betters are talking.” Ser Cauthrien’s verbal slap barely registered with Isabeaux, although everyone else noticed how Isabeaux had managed to unsettle the unwanted visitors. Eamon smiled evilly, and Isabeaux could feel his approval.

“Enough, Cauthrien, this is not the time or place. I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened. Our king is dead; our land is under siege.” If Isabeaux hadn’t seen the results of Loghain’s action, she would probably have listened willingly to his words.

“You are the one who divided Ferelden.” Isabeaux’s quiet voice echoed in the silence following Loghain’s words. The Teyrn finally lost his composure and snapped at Isabeaux.

“I was not talking to you.” The two of them stared at each other, sparks of hatred flying between them. Eamon stepped into the breach and tried to end the confrontation without bloodshed.

“I cannot forgive what you’ve done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can, but not me. Our people deserve a king of the Theirin bloodline. Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this Blight.” Isabeaux fought not to close her eyes in despair, knowing that she was not the queen that Ferelden needed.

“Oh, is that all I have to do? No pressure.” No one laughed at Alistair’s obvious attempt at humor.

“The emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down.” Loghain pointed first at Eamon and then Alistair. For Isabeaux, he spared only the slightest of withering glances. Isabeaux looked placidly back, planning how best to kill Howe and then Cauthrien. They would have to be removed for the good of Ferelden. Thinking that he had won some small concessions, Loghain and his entourage left.

“Why is he doing this? Wasn’t he once a great leader and hero?” Isabeaux refused to release her power, fearing what would happen if Loghain or one of his lackeys came in to kill Eamon or Alistair.

“Maker knows why he is doing this. Perhaps he had gone mad. I would have imagined pigs would fly before Loghain Mac Tir would turn against our King. He and King Maric used to be inseparable during their time in exile. The wild prince who’d never seen the inside of a castle, and the farmer’s son. When Loghain joined Maric’s rebels, he was just a rawboned boy. But he got on one knee to swear that he would see Ferelden free or die trying.” Eamon smiled at the memory of what Loghain once was.

“And now he kills Maric’s son and steals his throne.” Isabeaux watched Eamon for a sign of regret for his friend.

“And conspires with a blood mage to poison me. It is a bitter dose to taste. The Chantry speaks truly about the corruption of power if a man like Loghain could go and do this. I would never have believed that he would do anything but what was best for Ferelden. We need eyes and ears in the city. Loghain has been here for months. The roots of all his schemes must begin here. The sooner we find them, the better we can turn them to our advantage. Go have a look around and see what you can turn up. Better yet, find the nobles who have arrived for the Landsmeet. Test the waters, see how many will support us. When you are ready to talk strategy, find me and we can lay out our plans then.” Eamon clapped Isabeaux on her shoulder and nodded at Alistair before heading into the inner halls of his estate. 

Alistair smiled at her briefly, before looking in the direction Eamon had taken with a worried air. 

“I’ll be right back, love. Don’t leave without me.” He leaned in and kissed her quickly before running down the hall to Eamon. “Uncle, wait. I need to speak with you.”


	61. Strange Alliance

Alistair wouldn’t tell her what he talked to Arl Eamon about, but when he returned to her side. She was about to go get Zevran and Sten, to help her gather intelligence, but Alistair stopped her.

“Love? Do you mind if we went alone?” Something was wrong with Alistair, she could sense it, but when she opened her mouth to ask, he shook his head stalling her words.

Together they left the estate and Alistair was unnaturally quiet for some time. When she could stand it no longer, she asked him.

“Do you regret it?” Her eyes were fastened on the ground in front of her and didn’t see him stop walking. Isabeaux turned as she heard his heavy footsteps as he ran to catch up with her. Frustrated and upset, he grabbed both her arms and spun her to face him.

“I regret nothing I have done with you. I am just worried for you, with what we are facing. Soon everything will be decided… and… and I don’t want to lose you.” He kissed her lightly, wanting to deepen it but she pulled back and eyed him warily.

“What is wrong, Alistair?” 

“Eamon still wants to put me on the throne.” Alistair looked away.

“I see. Well, let’s go and listen to some nobles speak and listen carefully to what they are saying.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She started to pull away again, wanting the space to think. Alistair wouldn’t release her though, holding her tight in his arms as if she were going to be torn from him at any minute. Isabeaux refused to let the tears come. They had made promises to each other and she would hold up her end of them.

“Have I told you today that I love you?” He took both her hands and kissed them. “It will work out, I promise.”

She nodded that she heard and then turned her focus toward the Gnawed Noble Tavern. 

*~*

Isabeaux sat on the bed in her chamber and wished that she knew what was going on. Alistair, who had been solicitous and promised many hours of pleasure, had disappeared once entering the estate on the pretense of looking for Eamon and Teagan. She sighed and fell backward and wondered if this was what her life would always be like. A tentative knock at the door disturbed her reverie and she called the visitor in the room, sitting up to see who it was.

Roland stood in the doorway, looking apologetic. She smiled and waved him in. Roland took a few steps in and then shut the door behind him. He looked around the small room and claimed the sole chair.

“What do you need, Roland?” She smiled kindly, but wouldn’t put up with any amorous advances.

“I have to apologize.” When she frowned at him, her puzzlement obvious, he went on. “I should have been there… with you… when Loghain and Howe met with Arl Eamon. Alas, I could not, for I would have struck the bastard down myself. I had to stay away or I wouldn’t have been able to control myself.” 

Isabeaux watched the memory of the fury and the impotence that he had felt wash over his face. If he had been Alistair or even Zevran, she would have gathered him into her arms and comforted him, but she couldn’t, not after what had gone between them.

“It’s a good thing you weren’t there. It wasn’t pretty.” She grimaced as she thought of her petty actions to irritate and poke at Loghain and his lackeys. Roland moved over to where she was sitting on the bed, and settled next to her, taking her hand in his. He studied the slender fingers before kissing them softly.

“I can imagine. You have no idea how hard I had to struggle to refrain from pulling my sword and running Howe through. Had I done that, however, we would be in a very bad position right now.” He looked away and Isabeaux could see the war waging in his eyes. He was afraid of Howe, but hated him and needed to kill the man who had tortured him.

“There will be a next time, Roland. I promise you that.” Isabeaux relaxed a bit and closed her eyes, seeking the future.

“I pray that the Maker allows me to meet him on the battlefield once more. That is when I shall finally claim my revenge.” The adamant tone drew Isabeaux’s attention. Roland, for all that he tried, was still playing at war. She sighed and he looked askance at her.

“When we engage Howe in battle, it will not be an honorable fight, Roland, because a man like that will not fight honorably. It is not in his nature. You told me that he used treachery to infiltrated the castle and kill the Teyrn of Highever. He won’t be found fighting in the light of day. Like a rat, we will have to seek him in his bolt hole. Are you willing to lower yourself to his level? Because I can promise you that is the only way we will be rid of the vermin.” She spoke softly, but the venom and the surety made him waver.

“You have to be sure, Roland,” she said. “I will take you with me, and you can have your revenge. Or you can leave it here, and I will do with him what I must. It must be your choice.”

Roland considered her words and nodded. “I would go with you Isabeaux. I would not have you fight the vermin alone.”

She smiled slightly, sorry to have to take Roland’s honor that way. Roland leaned in and kissed her, softly. Isabeaux jumped away from him as the door opened and Alistair walked in. 

“Roland. What are you doing with my… with Isabeaux?” Alistair looked pissed. Isabeaux stayed silent, knowing that he wanted to hear it from Roland.

“I came in to speak with Isabeaux about Howe. She reassured me that I would have another chance to face him. I shut the door so the others wouldn’t hear that I was a coward not to face him when he arrived with Loghain. She was kind enough to listen.” Roland looked between Isabeaux and Alistair wondering what was going on.

Isabeaux smiled sadly at him and escorted him out, then shut the door behind Roland. She was still facing the door when Alistair started speaking. Isabeaux held up a hand to stop him and turned to him with tears in her eyes.

“Why… why haven’t you told anyone about us? You asked me to wait, to keep it secret. Why?” She managed to keep the tears from making her voice crack, but sorrow roughened it.

“I… I don’t know. I tried to talk about it with Arl Eamon, but he isn’t listening. I am so sorry Isabeaux.” Alistair moved to take her in his arms, but she moved away from him, putting distance between them.

“What is it you want Alistair? From me… what do you want from me?” Tears were streaming down her face and she scrubbed at her face to remove their tracks.

“I just want to love you Isabeaux. I promise, we can tell everyone after I tell Eamon. He deserves to know. Please, just a little bit longer.” He had made advances toward her and had almost reached her when a servant knocked on the door. Without waiting for an invitation, the servant walked in and announced to Alistair and Isabeaux that the Arl wanted to see them, immediately in his study. Isabeaux nodded at the servant and sent her away. Ignoring Alistair, she walked to the mirror and made sure that there was no sign of her outburst. 

She avoided Alistair’s hand as she walked out the door. He called out her name and she almost stopped; almost went back to him. Instead, she looked over her shoulder at the man she would always love and then continued down the hallway to Eamon’s study.

Alistair arrived just after she did, and even though Eamon raised his eyebrow, neither were willing to speak about it. 

“My lady Isabeaux. I trust you’ve made yourself comfortable.” Eamon chose to fall back on the courtesies that came naturally to him. Isabeaux looked straight ahead, and addressed the Arl as if he were a knight-commander.

“Yes. Thank you. Very nice.” Eamon looked at Alistair, surprised at her clipped tone. Alistair wouldn’t meet Eamon’s eyes as his were firmly fixed on Isabeaux.

“Well, I am glad that you are happy with the arrangements? At any rate, some disturbing news has come up. This is Erlina, She’s…”

“I am Queen Anora’s handmaiden. She sent me here to ask for your help.” The handmaiden and Isabeaux looked squarely at each other. The servant was pretty, delicate and an elf, like Isabeaux. Erlina didn’t look worried, she looked angry and Isabeaux wondered why. Erlina shifted her gaze to Alistair for a brief moment and then sped back to Isabeaux. A sad smile graced the handmaiden’s face as she nodded at the female warden.

“Why would Anora ask us for assistance?” Isabeaux worked hard to continue to sound detached.

“The queen, she is in a difficult position. She loved her husband, no? And trusted her father to protect him. When he returns with no king and only dark rumors, what is she to think? She worries, no? But when she tries to speak with him, he does not answer. He tells her ‘not to trouble herself’.” Erlina added in hand-wringing and Isabeaux raised an eyebrow at the movement.

“So? I’m still not seeing where our ‘help’ comes in.” Isabeaux chose to ignore the two irritating and difficult men in the room.

“So?! She goes to Howe. A visit from the queen to the new arl of Denerim is only a matter of courtesy. And she demands answers.” Erlina spoke as if everyone had heard of Howe’s actions.

“I guess that the visit didn’t go well then?” Isabeaux asked the question as dryly as she could.

“He calls her every sort of name, ‘traitor’ being the kindest, and locks her in a guest room. I think… her life is in danger. I heard Howe say she would be a greater ally dead than alive. Especially if her death could be… blamed on Arl Eamon.” Erlina slid a glance to Eamon with the last revelation. Isabeaux nodded. Eamon was aligned with the wardens and could be trouble for the regency. She had questions though.

“Would Loghain kill his own daughter, just to frame Eamon?” Isabeaux was appalled at the possibility. Alistair touched her shoulder in sympathy and she didn’t move away, which encouraged him to move closer and slide his arm around her waist. Eamon saw the action and frowned.

“We may have no choice but to trust Anora. The queen is well-loved. If Loghain succeeded in pinning her death on me… I’m not sure that is a risk we can afford to take.” Alistair and Isabeaux nodded.

“I have some uniforms. Arl Howe hires so many new guards every day, a few more will not cause much stir. I will show you to the servant’s entrance. We must slip in and out with my queen before anyone is the wiser. I will go ahead to Howe’s estate. Meet me there as soon as you can.” Erlina outlined the beginning of the plan and hoped that the wardens would be quick in following. Eamon chose to believe that the fact that neither warden stated “No” outright that they would help the queen.

“I’m glad that you have decided to help. With Anora’s knowledge, we have a far better chance against Loghain.” Isabeaux turned to Eamon and asked the question that bothered her most.

“Do you truly think Loghain’s daughter would turn on him?” 

“From Erlina’s story, he turned against her first. If he truly intends to sacrifice her, I think that it would be strong motivation to break the parental bonds. In any event, I would far rather have the opportunity to ask such things of her than simply hear about her murder. If Anora speaks out against Loghain, hers would indeed be one of the most powerful voices at the Landsmeet.” Eamon took her hand in his, pulling her forward and out of Alistair’s embrace. Isabeaux sighed and pulled her hand from Eamon’s, stepping away from both men.

“I should get going.” She already sounded defeated, but then Alistair spoke up.

“We will be going. I refuse to let my bride walk into that pit of vipers without protection.” Alistair’s voice was strong.

“I am sure that Anora would appreciate the sentiment.” Eamon said darkly. Isabeaux looked at the two men and walked out of the room. She grabbed Zevran and Roland and told them the bare bones of the plan. Zevran, took her hand gently and looked at her earnestly.

“They won’t get a clean shot of you as long as I am at your side. I promise you that.” He grinned saucily and went to gather his things. Roland merely nodded and grabbed his sword and shield. The small group was ready to leave within minutes of the decision to help, now came the hard part, rescuing a queen with no one being the wiser.


	62. To Save A Queen

The arl of Denerim’s estate was in disrepair, and there was a crowd of angry workers standing outside the front door. Erlina was waiting for them half hidden by some large carts. As soon as the handmaiden saw the companions she waved her arms and called them over. 

“We need to go through the servant’s entrance!” Erlina waved her hand in the general direction that they would have to go. Zevran looked at the pretty elven handmaiden and then the group huddled around the front door of the estate and back again.

“Why is there such a commotion at the door? Do many people know of the Queen being in residence?” Zevran eyed the crowd warily.

“Arl Howe is a man of unusual tastes and an unwillingness to pay for services rendered. Many of the people at the door are workmen he has not paid, and they are understandably angry.” Erlina spoke in hushed tones, but it was obvious that the people at the door didn’t care who was speaking unless it was Arl Howe. Isabeaux started to move in the general direction that Erlina had indicated but her progress was stalled by Alistair. Isabeaux looked at him and then looked away sadly.

“Izzy…” Alistair spoke quietly, but the others heard him too. Instead of trying to go on, he took her hand and kissed it gently. Erlina made shooing motions and all of them scuttled out from behind the carts. They tried to sneak around the perimeter of the estate, but there were too many guards, Isabeaux and Zevran worked quickly to disable the men, leaving Alistair and Roland to protect Erlina.

Slowly they made their way to where Erlina had hidden the guard uniforms. The handmaiden apologized for any poor fit, especially with Isabeaux’s uniform. Isabeaux smiled her understanding and used a small touch of magic to make all the borrowed uniforms fit. Erlina, seeing them properly outfitted, pushed them into the bushes to distract the guards at the door and to lure them away. Roland didn’t like having to lie and hide, but it was better to avoid undue difficulties than fight the entire estate and possibly lose the Queen. 

Once Erlina had convinced the guards she had seen some darkspawn, the other four walked to the door and slipped inside. Alistair watched Isabeaux as she checked her blades. She was trying to hide that she was a mage, if she didn’t use a staff, then she could blend in better. Alistair called her name again, but she didn’t look back. Zevran did and the look he gave the male warden was just short of pity. 

Erlina returned and let them through the estate. Isabeaux walked alongside the handmaiden, doing her best to pretend that she was a templar protecting an unruly mage. If Greagoir could see her, he would be impressed with her imitation. After numerous turns, Erlina finally led them to a door, blocked and warded by magic. The Queen was on the other side and she confirmed that the work was by one of Howe’s pet mages. Isabeaux bristled at the work. The mage was obviously using blood magic, but Isabeaux was still loathe to bring up that fact. Instead, she tried a few tricks to see if she could break through the barrier. That is when she noticed that it wasn’t being held by one mage; at least two were blending their talents, maybe more. She frowned and then promised that she would be back after dealing with the mage. Erlina chose to stay with Anora while the others searched.

Their luck at being undetected didn’t hold though, they walked in, accidentally, on a guard being serviced by one of the house maids, and by the look of the bruises on her face, it wasn’t the first servicing she’d done. The man yelled out, “Intruders.” Isabeaux took him down with a blade to his throat and then fought to get back into her own gear. She figured if she was going to have to fight all of the guards, she ought to do it comfortably in her own armor. The others laughed but stayed in their guard uniforms, finding it difficult to shift back into their own armor. They fought wave after wave of guards but didn’t see any sign of Howe or his pet mages. Roland looked askance at Isabeaux during a break and nodded when she commented that he was probably hiding, like a rat or snake, waiting to strike at them. 

When they had exhausted the supply of hostile guards, Isabeaux and the others moved further into the interior of the estate and found, in Howe’s private room, a stairway to the lower levels and the dungeon. Isabeaux took point, to Alistair’s displeasure, moving carefully and quietly down the passage. There would be no cover for her to move into until she had emerged from the stairwell.

As she moved into a darkened room, she saw a guard in the dim light. He turned toward the movement, and away from the cell he was watching. A hand poked out through the bars and grabbed the guard, pulling him in and choking him at the same time. Isabeaux heard a small crack and wasn’t sure if it was a broken windpipe or a snapped neck, but the guard ceased to struggle and was pulled into the cell. The four companions readied weapons as the individual in the hold grunted with the effort of stripping the body and dressing in the dark. When he emerged, the former prisoner was wearing the dead guard’s uniform.

Alistair, it turned out, knew the man. His name was Riordan and was a warden from Jader just beyond Ferelden’s borders in Orlais. The warden talked about how he had been lured into Howe’s hands with false promises and poisoned wine. Isabeaux pleaded with Riordan to join them, knowing that another blade against Howe would be useful, but the man was weak with hunger and untended wounds. Isabeaux used some healing magic on him, but Riordan needed bed rest and food. They watched him go. 

Isabeaux started walking further into the dungeons and wondered who else Howe had imprisoned. They fought through more guards and freed a noble man’s son. Zevran stripped one of the dead guards to give the young man something to wear. Isabeaux had blushed and looked away from the man’s naked body, but did try to heal him once he had clothed himself. They continued on in that fashion throughout the dungeon. Some people were too far gone to save, and Isabeaux or Zevran showed them mercy. They got to a cell block and found only two survivors. One was a man who was almost dead from the darkspawn taint, but Isabeaux couldn’t bring herself to kill the wretch. The other was an elf that looked vaguely familiar.

The elf, Soris, had been put in the cells by the old Arl’s son, Vaughn. Soris had gone in to save his bride but had gotten beaten up and locked up for his troubles. The poor man hadn’t heard about the uprising and was worried for his family. Isabeaux fought to let him out. Alistair stepped behind her, and put a hand on her shoulder as she worked.

“I am sorry to trouble you further, ser, but would you know of an elf named Cyrion?” Alistair’s question took both Isabeaux and Soris by surprise, but Isabeaux kept working on the lock.

“Cyrion? He’s my uncle, but… how do you know him?” Soris’ eyes narrowed; there were few reasons that a human would know an elf in the alienage, and none of them good.

“My lady here, is his daughter.” Soris’ eyes flew to Isabeaux’s face as she continued to fiddle with the rusty lock. Finally, with a creak, it unlocked and she stood up. Soris walked out and looked at Isabeaux.

“Cyrion’s daughter was taken from the alienage.” Soris continued to look at Isabeaux. He touched her face, almost reverently. “Isabeaux?”

She nodded and Soris took her in a quick hug. 

“Your father would be so proud.” Soris’ words were whispered in her ear.

“You need to get out of here.” Her words were brusque but Soris seemed to understand. 

“When you can, come to the alienage. He will be happy to see you. I’ll let him know you are coming… if that’s okay?” Soris seemed reluctant to leave her, but she pushed him along.

“Yes, it’s okay. I’ll be along when I can, if I can. Give him my love though.” She smiled at Soris and pushed him toward freedom. Alistair walked up behind her as she watched Soris escape.

“It’ll be okay my love.” He hugged her lightly and then pulled away before she could. 

“Let’s find Howe and his mages, let’s get this over with,” Isabeaux said. She walked out and looked around the maze of corridors. Reluctantly, she stretched out her power and searched for the mages. Pointing the way, the men led and she followed.

Howe was waiting for them; his mages had felt her probe and prepared themselves. 

“Well, well. The Grey Wardens. I must say I’m surprised that Eamon would condone you invading my castle and murdering my men. Is he losing faith in the persuasive powers of his Landsmeet?” Howe’s words oozed over her, making her shiver in disgust. 

“What is Loghain’s plan? I mean, I know you don’t expect us to walk out of here.” Isabeaux sounded meek and scared; Zevran looked at her once surprised.

“Loghain’s plan is to save Ferelden. From real threats, here and now. And after certain upstarts are brought to heel, he will end the Blight you go on about. Something your pathetic order of second sons can’t seem to get done. Ferelden needs a king who has known command. With the proper adviser at his side, of course.” 

“Dress it up if you like, but you helped murder the king.”

“Please. Cailan was a symbol, the coddled idea of the royal bloodline. He wasn’t a real leader. You should have left when you had the chance, Warden. Slunk off to the Anderfels to hide with the rest of your kind.”

“You should have stayed hidden in whatever hole you crawled into when you murdered the Couslands!” Roland could contain his fury no longer. Isabeaux didn’t stop him, she had tacitly allowed him to reach this point, and he needed to follow through on it.

“They were more loyal to Orlais than Ferelden. Beside, their mewling, pathetic daughter might have spread her legs for you, but you weren’t good enough to marry. I should have been more vigilant in eliminating all of you.” Howe snarled and spit. Roland snarled and lunged for Howe. Caught unprepared, Howe staggered back. Isabeaux focused completely on one of the mages, hoping that Alistair would use his templar talents on the other. After both mages were dead, they were busy fighting the seemingly endless line of Howe’s guards. When they finally had dispatched all of the men, they turned and saw Roland deliver the finishing blow to Howe. The former arl of Denerim and Highever wheezed and fell into a pool of his own blood.

“I… deserved… more.” Howe’s words were barely heard, but the venom was apparent. Isabeaux leaned down and whispered into the dying man’s ear.

“You will be forgotten after this day.” Horror flooded the dying man’s eyes and Isabeaux walked away, not bothering to look back.

In Howe’s private prison, there were another two men. One of them was a templar that had been imprisoned to allow Jowan to escape capture and go to Redcliffe. The poor man was suffering from lyrium withdrawal and his words were jumbled and tearful. In the other cell was a well-dressed noble, Vaughn Urien, the man who had imprisoned Soris. Alistair asked if it was true that he had taken the elven women and the man tried to convince the men that it was a worthy and typical response to such delicate beauty. 

Isabeaux leaned in close to the cage and watched as Vaughn’s hand stretched out to touch her, when he got close enough, she thrust her blade into his belly. When she was sure he was dead, she opened the cage and walked away. Zevran grinned, but Alistair and Roland were shocked. 

“We have a Queen that we still need to get out of here. Let’s go.” She never turned back to look at the pathetic body of Vaughn, nor did she pay any attention to Howe’s corpse as she left the dungeons.

They walked back to the Queen’s chambers and knocked. They were safe. Queen Anora walked out wearing a guard’s uniform stating that it was easier if she left with no one the wiser. Isabeaux nodded and led the way out.

Waiting for them was Ser Cauthrien, she had arrived to take the Wardens in custody, or barring that to “free Anora”, as if the wardens were the ones holding her hostage. Isabeaux put up her weapons and surrendered.

“Why? There is just her between us and freedom!” Alistair was indignant. 

“Killing them just reinforces Loghain’s lies.” Isabeaux walked forward, leaving the others behind. She hoped that they would overlook Alistair, that he would stay free. Ser Cauthrien looked at Isabeaux, her dark eyes flashing.

“I’m surprised that this ended peacefully. Bring the Wardens. Loghain doesn’t care about the rest.”

“Just take me! I’m the one he wants,” Isabeaux protested. Alistair hushed her, as she started to fight against the guards. A sharp pain exploded and blackness slipped across her vision. Isabeaux’s head fell forward and from a distance, she could barely hear Alistair yell her name.


	63. Against the Future

Isabeaux jumped at the knock on the door. She turned toward the sound and was surprised to see Alistair walk through her door. He took two steps forward and paused, watching her, waiting for something.

“Yes, Alistair? What may I help you with, or does the Arl need to speak with me again?” She tried to keep her tone even. She didn’t want his pity. When he didn’t answer right away, Isabeaux moved to the other side of the room, giving herself distance between them. His eyes narrowed slightly as she moved. Alistair took another two steps into the room and then closed the door, locking it behind him.

“We need to talk.” His voice was low.

“What is it you need to speak with me about?” She made no move to get closer to him, and appeared vaguely nervous about being around him. He watched her carefully as she fidgeted and averted her eyes.

“We will be heading to Denerim tonight. The rest of our companions and the Arl’s men will be following tomorrow.” Alistair watched as she listened to his words and narrowed her eyes slightly.

“You mean…” Isabeaux narrowed her eyes at Alistair.

“I told Arl Eamon that you and I had to leave separately to protect his family. I did not tell him anything else. Although I will let him know that we are in love, if you think that will help.” He walked forward and took her in his arms, holding her tight as she fought against him. He waited until she stopped squirming before loosening his hold. Alistair tipped her head back and looked into her eyes. “Pack your bags. We leave in an hour.” He kissed her nose and released her suddenly, pushing himself to trust her to be ready.

When he walked back to her room and hour later he was expecting to have to fight with her, but she was ready to leave. She looked scared, but he knew that in a few hours, he would be able to convince her of anything. Alistair took her hand in his and kissed it gently, pulling her toward him.

“Where are we going?” Isabeaux was still afraid; worried about the future. 

“Eventually? Denerim. We should arrive before Eamon, but only by a bit. Actually, we are meeting someone and then heading to Denerim. You don’t mind, do you? It’s the last important task we have to do before the Landsmeet.”

She nodded her acquiescence. He bundled her in her cloak and pushed her out of the door, looking in her pack to make sure that she had taken everything. Together they took the servant’s stairs down and out of the castle. He rushed to the stables and took charge of two of the horses. Alistair helped Isabeaux up into the saddle and then mounted behind her. 

“You may ride your own horse tomorrow, if you like. Today, we need to make time, and I don’t want to worry about losing you.” He whispered into her ear and she nodded. Alistair wrapped one arm around her waist and held her tight. He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and clicked his tongue, spurring the horse into a gallop. Isabeaux felt like they were racing the sun as Alistair pushed the horse for as fast and as long as he could. 

Near dusk, he pulled into a small village. A large manor house stood at one end of the village while the Chantry building anchored the other end. Alistair rode up to the stable and handed the stable master a note. The two of them were ushered inside and were told that their host would see them at dinner. Alistair didn’t let Isabeaux ask any questions, but escorted her up to her room and asked a servant to bring a bath. He then requested that she wear her blue dress to dinner and that he would return for her within an hour. The maid that followed the servants with the tub had been given instructions to aid the lady in any way that she needed. 

Isabeaux bathed quickly and allowed the maid to braid her hair in some complicated Orlesian manner that made Isabeaux laugh. She dressed in her freshly pressed blue dress and expected to have to wait. Within a few minutes, she heard a knock on the door. The maid opened it to show Alistair dressed in his finery. Isabeaux smiled shyly and took Alistair’s hand. Isabeaux was certain that this would be their last night together, and didn’t want her sorrow to cloud the evening. 

Alistair walked her out of the manor house and into a simple, small garden. He immediately gravitated toward the roses and using his belt knife, he cut a newly blooming rose to give to Isabeaux. She smiled down at the flower, remembering the sweet words Alistair had said with the first rose he’d given her.

“I find myself in the odd position of needing to remind you that you are a rare and wonderful thing to find amidst all this darkness. Isabeaux, my love, you have reminded me not only of why we are fighting but that it is worth fighting and dying for. I love you so dearly. You are, to me, intensely desirable. I and my heart put ourselves in your hands begging you to recommend us to your good grace.” He kissed her hand and then knelt down in front of her. Isabeaux looked confused and tried to pull him back up but he refused, instead, he looked up at her and smiled.

“I was hoping that you would do me the honor of marrying me. I believe that marriage is the best way to put your mind at ease. I am not going anywhere Isabeaux, unless you send me away. I love you, Isabeaux. I will wait here until you say yes.”

“You are going to be King, Alistair. You cannot marry an elf… or a mage. You need to marry someone of nobility.” Her eyes were wet and she wanted to say yes to him so badly, but refused to let him make that mistake.

“I am not going to be king. I refuse and you are smart enough not to make me. You can stand against Arl Eamon and the whole of the Landsmeet. We will support someone else… Eamon or Teagan. Isabeaux, say that you will marry me.” 

She trembled and he knew that she was close. He saw the Revered Mother and Teagan coming closer. This was taking longer than he’d planned. 

“If you knew, for certain, that I was not going to be King, would you say yes?” His voice was pleading and she could no longer deny him. Her voice wasn’t working at first, so she nodded. He kissed her hand as the one word he longed to hear burst through her lips over and over.

“Yes, Alistair. Yes! A thousand times over.” He stood up to kiss her lips gently and then as she responded, with more passion. The Revered Mother and Teagan looked at the two young lovers with sweet indulgence.

“Since that has been decided, the Revered Mother would be happy to officiate this evening, before dinner. Alistair? Do you have a ring for this lovely woman?” Teagan’s voice showed his affection for the two young lovers. “Come inside, and we shall have the ceremony and then celebrate.”

Isabeaux’s eyes widened and then narrowed. 

“You planned this?” She was indignant but Alistair could not help but grin at her. He’d gotten what he wanted, Isabeaux, his love and an implied promise that they would find a way to keep him from being king.

“Yes, love. I planned it all. With Teagan’s help of course. He has given us the use of a small cottage at the edge of the village for our wedding night. It is small and simple, but I thought it would be perfect. Unless, you would rather stay here.” He kissed her lips and wiped away the few tears that had run down her cheeks.

“What if I don’t want to get married this evening?”

“I am not letting you back out of this now. This union, this… treaty is the most important one I can think of.” He pulled her into his embrace and whispered sweet words of love, and darker words of desire. If he was to be King, then she would be nothing less than his Queen, but he knew that she wouldn’t let it come to that. She would always be a voice of reason in a world of chaos. Alistair led her into the manor house and to the chamber that the Revered Mother was waiting in. If the woman had any reservations about Isabeaux being an elf, she said nothing and Alistair knew that neither he nor Teagan had mentioned Isabeaux was a mage. Alistair was fairly certain that it would not affect the outcome, but he would not risk it.

The ritual binding them together was short and sweet as the Mother bid the Maker to watch over them. She blessed their union and made the necessary prayers that their marriage would be fruitful and long. Isabeaux and Alistair smiled into each other’s eyes and made promises to each other without saying a word. When the small ceremony was over, Teagan pulled the bride into a quick embrace and kissed her resoundingly on her lips. Alistair growled with jealousy and then grinned as his bride rushed back into his arms.

Teagan apologized to Isabeaux for it being such a small ceremony with only a few in attendance, but Isabeaux would hear nothing against it. The three ate dinner, smiling and talking of happy things, and some of the wonders that the wardens had seen. It was full dark by the time that they headed to the small cottage. Teagan told them both that they would have a full day within the walls of the cottage and that they would not need to leave until the morning after next. He chuckled as Alistair picked up his new wife and carried her from one home to the next. The Bann of Rainesfere smiled and walked to the kitchen to arrange breakfast to be sent to the small cottage and then looked out the window of his manor and wished the same kind of his life for himself.


	64. Fort Drakon

Isabeaux woke to a splitting headache, but she could feel Alistair’s arms wrapped around her. He was holding her gently and she could hear the pleading whispered prayers that he was sending to the Maker. She raised her hand to his lips, stilling his words for a minute while she took stock of her injuries.

“Thank the Maker you are all right! I was so worried.”

“I’m fine Alistair, thank you.” She tried to push off his lap but he held her fast. She was grateful for his warm, strong arms, who ever had thrown her in the cell, had taken most of her clothes leaving her in her underwear.

“You aren’t going anywhere. We are stuck in this cage for the time being, and I need to just…”

“Let me go Alistair. Just… let me go.” Her voice hitched a little, wanting him to fight for her but sure that he wouldn’t.

“I can’t Isabeaux. I need you to make me happy. I told you that before.”

“Then why haven’t you told anyone that we wed? Why have you asked me to not say anything? Are you ashamed of me? If you become King, then it will be as if we never married. If you want to become King, I will support you, but I will leave.” He hugged her close as she spoke, afraid that she would truly leave him behind.

“I have tried to tell Eamon, but he hasn’t listened to me. It doesn’t fit into his plans. I don’t want to become king, I just want… I just want you, Isabeaux. Always… forever.” He pulled her in tightly.

“You would be happy staying a warden?” She asked the question softly, afraid of the answer.

“Yes. I would prefer it actually. I like feeling like I am making a direct difference. I wasn’t groomed to be king; I was always told it would never happen. Now that it has become a possibility, it is more of a nightmare. I won’t let you go, even if I do become king. You are my wife, now and always.” He kissed her to punctuate the sentence. She nodded under the force of his passion.

“And… I will make Eamon listen, maybe he will be willing to give up his plan to make me king.” Isabeaux laughed, Eamon was not one to let go of a plan. “Now… I have to ask, what was between you and Roland? In the bedroom? I have to admit that I was shocked that he was there, with you… so intimately.”

“He came in to talk about Howe and his life, and where he was going. There is nothing between us love.” Isabeaux ran a finger along his jawline.

“But there was once… right?” Alistair couldn’t even meet her eyes.

“For about five seconds. It was never a contest. He was never mine, and I didn’t want him to be.” Isabeaux smiled as Alistair turned his face to look at her.

“Now that the serious part of our day is over, what do you suggest we do?” Alistair jerked his chin at the heavy door that locked them in.

“What are our options?”

“Well, we can try to break out or wait for rescue.” Alistair was glaring at the guard who was ogling Isabeaux’s half naked form.

“The only person I trust to get us out of here is Zevran.” She struggled out of Alistair’s arms and went to check out the lock on the door.

“Do you really trust him?” There was something in Alistair’s voice that had Isabeaux turning and looking at him. She raised an eyebrow.

“Are you jealous?” She kept her tone light and teasing.

“Don’t dodge the question.” His brows pulled together and glared at her.

“You are! You are actually jealous!” She giggled at the thought but then turned back to the lock, trying to figure out if she could get through it with magic.

“You’re killing me here. Just, answer the question.” Alistair crossed his arms and waited. She looked back and smirked at him.

“Yes I trust him, and before you point out that he tried to kill us, I would like to draw your attention to the fact that you were fine with him until I said I trusted him. He has proven himself time and again. He is a good friend, to both of us.” She gave up on the lock and turned toward the guard. She leaned against the bars of the cell and tried to flirt with the man. He seemed surprised but game for a little romp in the cell. The guard opened the door and started to strip, not caring that Alistair would be there to watch. Alistair tapped the guard on the shoulder and when the man turned to look, Alistair hit him hard across the jaw. The guard dropped like a stone and the two wardens slipped out of their cage. 

They found their gear in a chest and hurriedly got dressed. Isabeaux suggested they disguise themselves as guards again and sneak out. Alistair agreed and they lied their way all the way out the door. 

About half way to Eamon’s estate, they ran into Zevran and Sten. Zevran was surprised at their ability to escape the tight security of Fort Drakon, but Sten just commented that he knew his kadan could not be held by the vashedan guards that Loghain employed. Isabeaux hugged both men and all of them raced back to Eamon’s.

Eamon was thrilled to see both wardens return. Anora was happy to see Isabeaux unharmed, but less thrilled to see Alistair. Eamon and Anora had been talking and had come up with a plan to find out more of the secretive plans that Loghain had hatched. One of them would send Isabeaux into the Alienage. She nodded her acceptance but requested that she rest a bit after Wynne looked at her, she had taken a bad knock to the head and it still hurt. That and she felt like she smelled of filth and decay, so she wanted a bath. Anora commiserated with her, and Eamon asked a maid to take care of Isabeaux’s needs. Alistair kissed her cheek before she left.

“I will be with you shortly, dear. I need to speak with Eamon.” Alistair’s voice showed great resolve and Isabeaux hoped that he could get his announcement through Eamon’s head. Anora walked alongside Isabeaux as they traveled to the other side of the estate.

“Anora? May I ask a few questions?” Isabeaux chose to use the familiar term as opposed to the title, hoping to gauge the other woman’s reactions. When Anora nodded, Isabeaux continued. “Why would your father allow you to be taken hostage by Howe?”

“He saw me as a threat, yet even now I am certain he will be telling the nobles you are dangerous murderers that have kidnapped and mind controlled me. I had hoped we could reason with him, because Howe’s influence was so strong, but even the knowledge that Howe is dead is enough to sway him now. I know my father, and he is committed to his course. He will see this through no matter what. 

“I will be blunt. I can see that your voice will be a strong one in the days to come. It is to you that Eamon listens, and with good reason. My father must be stopped, but once that is done Ferelden will need a ruler. I would welcome your support for my throne.”

Isabeaux looked at the other woman. Tall, willowy and graceful, she would make any man a wonderful match. Knowing this, her heart ached; worried that Alistair would have preferred this capable woman.

“I don’t think I am as important as you believe.” 

“No? You are a Grey Warden, and despite the fact that my father will paint himself as the only one who can protect the country from the Blight it is not so. Secondly, you have saved Arl Eamon from a plot that no doubt had its origins in Howe’s sick little mind. People will not forget that. You are competent and powerful, and in the right place at the right time. Used to your advantage, these things could bring you far.

“For years I have ruled this kingdom as Cailan’s queen. As much as they loved Cailan, all of the Bannorn knew this to be so. Cailan was a good man, but what is needed now is not another good man, but a good ruler. I need your support, Warden. And you will need mine. You will be seen as my father’s enemy, of that there is no doubt. But if allied with me, you would be seen as in support of his daughter. You will be seen as supporting the interests of Ferelden as opposed to solely those of the Grey Wardens. In return, I add my voice to yours. Do you see? Together we can do what alone we cannot.”

Isabeaux nodded at the wisdom of Anora’s words. Isabeaux remembered Cailan fondly, for all that she only knew him for a bit more than a day. He was a good man, but not the leader that Duncan was or that Anora could be. Alistair would also be a good leader, but he didn’t want to be, and while a reluctant leader could be a good one, in this case Isabeaux wasn’t so sure.

“All right. You will have my support in the Landsmeet.” 

“That is good to hear, Warden… Isabeaux, if I may.” Anora watched as the elven mage nodded her acceptance of her given name. “So… we have a deal Isabeaux. I trust you will keep your end of the bargain… now I suppose, comes the task of dealing with my father. That will be no small feat of course, but I am certain that you already know this. I imagine you have much to do. Is there anything else you need from me?” 

Isabeaux asked some questions about Loghain, and what type of man he had once been. Anora spoke with fondness of her father, trying her best to focus on the good and not the past few months. When they had reached Isabeaux’s door, the servants were already putting together the bath.

“One last thing, my Queen. Your father will be tried for his crimes. He will be found guilty and then dealt with. I am sorry that I must put it so bluntly, but he has been the cause of a great deal of bloodshed, not the least of which is the death of the King.” Isabeaux did not want Anora thinking that because she was supporting Anora’s claim to the throne, that Loghain would walk free. Anora nodded sadly.

“I am aware of his many crimes, Isabeaux. I would dearly love him to be tried and found innocent, or have his life spared, but I am his daughter. I do not wish to lose both my husband and my father to this senselessness, but if he must pay with his life, I will not flinch from my support of you.”

Isabeaux bowed to the Queen and walked into the room, shedding her clothes quickly to take advantage of the bath. She had almost fallen asleep in the warm water when she heard the door open and shut quietly. She opened her eyes to see Alistair walking toward her.

“My love, you shouldn’t fall asleep in the bath. Has Wynne checked your head yet?” Alistair gathered her in his arms, heedless of her dampness and then wrapped her in a soft warm robe and tucked her into bed. He stuck his head out of the door and asked a maid to get Wynne. Alistair then chatted with Isabeaux about everything until Wynne showed up. 

After doing some minor healing, Wynne smiled at both of them and took her leave.

“Did you tell Eamon?” Her words were sleepy but she fought the tiredness. Alistair slipped into the bed beside her.

“Yes… he wasn’t happy about it. It throws a wrench in his plans. Speaking of his plans… who told Anora that I was planning on stealing her throne? She has a nasty glare. She wants to be queen. I get it. I don’t trust her any more than her father, but I get it.”

“I’ve decided to support her in the Landsmeet.” 

“Hmmmm… There was a time when that would have given me great relief. Now? I’m not so sure, but I’m a Grey Warden first, and if I get to stay a Grey Warden I’ll take it. Let Anora be queen. I guess all we need to do is stop her father from taking the throne first, right?” Isabeaux looked at her husband and narrowed her eyes.

“He can’t rule if he’s dead.”

Alistair chuckled and kissed his beloved. “I heard that. Now get some sleep. I will wake you soon enough for your wifely duties.”

She smiled and snuggled deeper into his arms, letting sleep take her.


	65. Incriminating Evidence

Isabeaux’s head ached and she truly did not want Alistair to join her as she walked through the slums of Denerim where the elves were forced to live. She and Zevran walked in front with Alistair and Sten behind. Sten made a comment about the houses being made of garbage and Isabeaux visibly winced. She wasn’t sure if she was ashamed for herself or for the people of the alienage. ‘It wasn’t as if we asked to live like this.’

Alistair touched her shoulder and when she turned to look at him, he smiled. 

The three men let her lead, as she picked her way through the crowded streets. A few elves claiming to be survivors of Ostagar were begging for coin, and one of them told her where she could find Cyrion’s house. 

She followed the directions, looking for anything familiar. When she came to the house, she knocked and waited. Soris opened the door, his expression registering surprise and a little disappointment.

“Isabeaux! I didn’t expect…” Soris stammered out an apology, but he shouldn’t have bothered. She understood that extended families often lived together in one house because of the pitifully high rents.

“I was hoping to find Cyrion at home. He… isn’t… I take it.” Isabeaux’s voice was soft and sad. “Perhaps you could tell us what is going on then? Has anyone told you what has happened in the alienage?”

Soris invited them to sit, his eyebrows raised slightly as Alistair sat close to Isabeaux and took her hand in his. Isabeaux squeezed his hand gently grateful for the connection, then she turned her whole attention to Soris. 

Soris told them what little news he had been able to get since being released. There had been a purge after his wedding, to punish the elves for encouraging the elven men to try and rescue their brides. A number of elven women died during the purge as the more disreputable guards would drag them off and rape them leaving them to die in some cases, or kill themselves in others. The men they would beat close to death and then forbid anyone to aid them. Soris counted himself lucky, having been imprisoned instead. A lot of his friends were no longer alive. After the purge, there came the plague, a fairly recent occurrence. 

Some people were ill and taken to the infirmary which was being run by Tevinter Healers. Not all people taken were sick though and few of those taken had been released. Soris’ sister Shianni had left to go find out what was going on. Isabeaux had remembered Soris but only slightly, he was a year younger than she. Shianni had barely been walking when she was taken to the tower. 

“What about my father?” Isabeaux worked hard to keep the fear and sorrow out of her voice.

“He was taken two days ago, according to Shianni. He hasn’t returned.” Soris sounded apologetic. “Could you… could you go talk to Shianni? She’s in front of the infirmary, and knowing her she’s raising a fuss. She is sure that someone… somewhere… knows something and thinks that the elves are too stupid to ask. She’s all I… all we have left.” 

Isabeaux stood and hugged Soris, making her promises to check on Shianni and to look into the missing elves. Isabeaux left the small house and was surprised by the looks in the men’s eyes.

“What?”

“Are you alright?” Alistair was concerned, “It has to be a shock to expect to see your father and find you missed him by two days. I mean, I know we’ll find him, but…”

“Alistair, I haven’t seen my father since I was eight. I don’t think I ever expected to see him again. I barely remember living here. I was at the tower for so long and it had become my life. I was always told that I couldn’t leave and my father, even if it had been allowed, couldn’t afford to leave Denerim to visit me. I won’t let him rot in some charnel house though. He deserves better than that, they all do.” She was furious but kept it contained, hoping that no one would push her further.

They picked their way through the cramped alleys of the slums and when they heard raised voices, they moved toward them. Isabeaux had remembered the old warnings stating that no elf could carry a weapon inside the alienage and had thoughtfully not brought her blades with her. Zevran, comparatively was armed to the teeth. The crowd parted a bit for the four of them, one elven woman surrounded by three heavily armed men. Isabeaux asked one of the onlookers as to which one was Shianni. The elf ogled the men fearfully but pointed at a young elven woman with bright red hair, and a furious expression. Isabeaux nodded her thanks and made her way to her other cousin.

“Shianni? I heard there was trouble. Can I help?” 

“You must not be from around… wait… Soris told me about you. You’re the one who freed him from the dungeons. He said you were our cousin, Uncle Cyrion’s daughter. I’m sorry that I don’t remember you. You look a little like your father though.” The red head smiled distractedly, until someone grumbled and set her off.

“These foreigners say they’re here to help with our ‘outbreak of plague’. Funny thing, though, all the people they ‘help’ disappear.”

“That’s not true, and you know it, Shianni! Both my sisters got the Tevinter spell cast on them, and they’re fine.” The elven woman glared at Shianni as she spoke and then dared Shianni or any of the others to dispute her claim. Isabeaux raised her eyebrow and shot a quelling look at the woman before turning her attention back to Shianni. Her younger cousin didn’t appear to notice and shot back her own rejoinder.

“Oh? Where’s your niece then? And my Uncle Cyrion? And Valendrian?” Shianni’s strident voice was becoming more so with the naming of each missing elf.

“Slow down and tell us what’s going on here. I can’t help if I don’t know.” Isabeaux tried to calm her cousin.

“These foreigners have taken dozens of elves into that house over the last few weeks, and none of them have been seen again. One of them was our hahren, Valendrian. And I don’t know what we’re going to do if we don’t get him back.” Shianni was on the verge of frustrated tears.

“I think I’ll go take a look inside then.” Isabeaux smiled and started to the front of the line, allowing everyone else to fall in her wake.

“They won’t just let you in.” Shianni pulled on Isabeaux’s arm, trying to slow her down, to force her to stop. Isabeaux smiled and patted her cousin’s hand but kept moving forward. Alistair looked worried, but was sure that she could handle herself just fine.

“I’ll pretend to be sick.”

“I guess it’s worth trying. I’ll be impressed if those mages fall for it though.” Shianni had given up trying to stop her physically but it was obvious that the word mage was thrown in to get her to reconsider. Isabeaux considered what most people knew and believed about mages and smiled. 

“I need to get in,” she coughed, “I think I’m feeling…” She allowed her eyes to roll slightly as she pitched forward. The guards caught her and informed one of the mages, who cleared her entrance. Zevran and Alistair started to move forward but were stopped. Only Isabeaux would be allowed inside. She looked back and winked at Alistair. The guard lifted her carefully and carried her through the door. The guard didn’t release her immediately when they were inside, choosing to carry her to his superior.

“Ser, we have another one.” 

“She looks like the picture of the Warden that… wait…” The older Tevinter mage looked at her, running his hands over Isabeaux as the other guard held her. Isabeaux, lashed out with her power, knocking everyone down, freeing herself from the guard’s grip. She fought hard using only her magic to tear apart her enemy. It didn’t even occur to her that she was fighting men and not darkspawn, a thought that would have given her a moment’s hesitation only a few months ago. With the men down, she searched the room, finding some cryptic notes and a huge sum of money. In another room, she found some beaten and damaged elves. Isabeaux released them, but warned them to run out the back, so they wouldn’t be noticed. 

Angry at how people think they could treat elves, Isabeaux burst out of the front door bristling with magic. She blasted at the remaining guards and was pleased to see the others taking down the mages. Within the space of a few breaths, the enemy was defeated, but only a few elves had been found. Isabeaux puzzled over the cryptic note as Shianni walked toward her. 

“I saw a few elves leave, but not your father and not Valendrian.” 

Isabeaux showed her the note. Zevran looked over her shoulder.

“It looks as though they are transporting the people, elsewhere.” His mellow voice showed signs of disapproval. It was obvious he knew more, but didn’t want to alarm Shianni. “Is there any other way they could be moved without being seen?”

Shianni told them of the warren of apartments that lead into the warehouse district. The three men pulled out their weapons, preparing for another fight. Isabeaux hugged her cousin and led the small group in the direction that Shianni indicated. Alistair held her back for a moment.

“Are you all right? I was worried for you love.” He checked her for signs of manhandling. She leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“I’ll be fine when we know what happened.” He held her cheek before letting her step back. She needed to be cold for what was coming, and he knew it. She pulled up her power and let it flash around her fingertips. There would be no hesitation from any of them.

They ran through the maze of apartments and burst out onto the docks. One man walked forward questioning the need for a shift change. Then asked where the latest shipment had gotten to. Isabeaux blasted him back ten feet with a jolt of lightning. The others ran forward and dispatched the soldiers, but Isabeaux knelt by the dying man, asking questions. When she was done, she burnt the body to ash. Her three companions stared at her. 

“Isabeaux, why?”

“Some of those women I had released had been raped. I could smell her on him.” She said it softly. Sten leaned in to speak quietly.

“Step back kadan. He can’t hurt anyone now.” Alistair watched surprised as the Qunari pulled Isabeaux into an embrace, rumbling into her ear as the truth of what she had just done sank in. Her body trembled and although Alistair wanted to be the one to console her, he was appalled that she could destroy a person so mercilessly. Sten understood what had happened, and accepted it as a part of the battle. Zevran walked up to Alistair and pulled him aside.

“She has seen too much too soon. She mourns a father she hasn’t seen and aches for a life she doesn’t think she’ll have. How would you feel if your mother, or sister, or daughter was raped? That is how she feels, with the added knowledge that it could happen to her. Forgive her, friend. She doesn’t need to know your fear too.” Zevran clapped Alistair on his shoulder and left the warden to consider his words.

Alistair pulled himself together more quickly than Isabeaux. When she was ready, they continued through the warehouse, killing anyone who stood in their way. They had found evidence of slavery being condoned by Loghain. The teyrn had, with full knowledge and backing, allowed people to be taken from their homes to become slaves in another land. The battles had been quick and bloody, but no elves had been found. They neared the end of the maze of the warehouse, and Isabeaux was losing heart.

The final door opened and they saw a Tevinter magister, directing where the ‘cargo’ was to be sent. Cage upon cage filled with elves lined the walls. Isabeaux bubbled with anger. It pushed her even farther when the magister thought he could bargain for the lives of his captives. She enjoyed killing him, a feeling she never thought she would have. Isabeaux let the men kill the guards, pushing her destructive power at the magister. Even near the end, the monster tried to bargain, promising more power if he could have the elves. She slid Alistair’s knife out of his sheath and walked up to the man begging for his life. 

“I simply wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you go.” Her words dripped with fury but she couldn’t kill him with the blade. She took a step back, from the anger and the need to destroy the man. Zevran had no such feelings and slit the man’s throat. Isabeaux walked away from the magister and focused on the captives. 

She opened cage after cage, looking for her father, in the last cage she found the alienage’s Hahren. The older man had heard her calling for Cyrion and took pity on her, as much as he could.

“Child, your father… is gone. He was taken away yesterday. I am so… sorry.” The elven elder’s sympathy was too much for her to bear.

“Would you please tell my cousins what happened?” Her voice was unsteady as she talked. Her knees felt even weaker but she wouldn’t fall in front of the others. The Hahren nodded and ushered the last of the captives out. When the door shut behind them, Alistair walked up and embraced her from behind.

“My love. I am so sorry.” His soft words of comfort were her undoing. Tears streaked down her face as her knees gave out. Alistair knelt down beside her and held her tightly, allowing her to cry. Zevran collected the documents they needed and Sten searched for anything else that they could use. With a heavy heart, they returned to the estate. They had an accounting of Loghain’s deeds and given comfort to the people affected, human and elf. Time was running out, it was time to call the Landsmeet.


	66. Into the Landsmeet

Alistair woke her just before dawn, kissing her passionately. His hands skimmed up underneath her shift, brushing against her breasts.

“Don’t you ever tire of making love?” Her words were sleepy but pleased.

“With you? Never. Now come here wife, I must be ready and relaxed for the Landsmeet. I just know that Eamon will try to make me a king again.” He kissed her neck, making her smile and writhe with pleasure. Her legs spread enough to accommodate him between them. Grinning he slid between her thighs but got no further as a sharp knock at the door interrupted the moment. Alistair sighed into her neck and rolled away from her. He grabbed his trousers and slipped them on so that he could answer the door. She had started to slip out of the bed, but he stopped her with a look.

The servant at the door coughed into his hand to draw Alistair’s attention back.

“His lordship requests your presence at once. Both you and the lady.” 

“Do you have any idea what he wants before dawn?” The question was rhetorical, but the servant answered it anyway.

“I am not privvy to that, Ser. I was just informed that he wanted you and the lady to see him in his office.” The servant bowed and left them to get dressed.

Isabeaux laughed and slipped from under the covers. Riordan had left her a note the night before informing her of a cache of Warden weapons and armors. She had planned on visiting it before the Landsmeet, and since it would be hours before it started, she would have the time. 

Alistair walked over and took her in his arms, kissing her deeply before she could pull away. She fell into his embrace for a short time, allowing him to run his hands over her in a possessive fashion before reminding him of his duty. She turned, reluctantly, from him and started to put on her armor.

“You won’t wear the blue dress? This is a formal, if political, affair. I heard there might be cake afterward.”

“Alistair, they need to see us as Grey Wardens. Perhaps it will remind Eamon that you are a Warden first, now.” He reached over while she dressed and helped to fasten the buckles.

“You’re right, and I know it, doesn’t make me stop wishing for the dress though.” He kissed her neck and then dressed in his own armor. When they were presentable, they walked through the halls to Eamon’s study.

"Maker forgive me,” Eamon said, “I should be appalled that slavery could exist here, but I’m overjoyed that you can implicate Loghain. We must end the civil war quickly. What the Blight does not corrupt in this land, politics surely will. The last of our allies have arrived in the city and you know we can delay no longer. The Landsmeet will begin in three hours. Isabeaux, please bring Alistair and prepare for a battle. Loghain will not give up easily.” 

Isabeaux and Alistair nodded and headed out the door. Knowing that they would have a few more supporters was good news, but it would be a long wait until the formalities began. 

“Isabeaux, wait. I would like to speak with you for a moment. Alistair, please, I would like to speak with her alone.” Eamon shooed his nephew out of his study and shut the door.

“Alistair tells me that you two have married, and Teagan confirmed it. I can’t believe that my brother and my nephew would have put our plan in to such danger. Nor that you, a fine and upstanding woman in all other regards would be so conniving as to marry him to put a mage and an elf next to the throne as his consort. I admire you, but you being with him, diminishes his chances of getting the support from the Bannorn. Please, tell him it is over, allow him to live up to his birthright. Please.” Eamon pleaded with her, and all of her doubts and fears came to the fore. She merely bowed her head and backed out of the study.

“What did Eamon want?” Alistair looked at the door she had shut behind her. Isabeaux shook her head; she couldn’t quite speak about it yet. “Love? Talk to me.”

“I have an errand to run before the Landsmeet, would you care to join me?” She turned her damp eyes up to him and he kissed her and nodded.

Together they walked through the still dark streets of Denerim. She stopped abruptly in front of one door that looked like all the rest, except for a small carving of a griffon on the lintel. Alistair looked down at Isabeaux and though he couldn’t see her face clearly, he smiled, happy to be with her. She opened the door and pulled him inside. Together they walked to the back of the building, her magic lighting the way. She stopped at a wall and followed Riordan’s directions exactly. The wall opened up into a small room filled with artifacts of Wardens long ago, but the one thing she wanted was propped up against a desk. She had seen Duncan with it a few times, but not when they had gotten to Ostagar. She picked it up and handed it to Alistair.

“This… this is Duncan’s shield. I… I never thought…,” Alistair stammered, and Isabeaux fell in love with him again.

“He would have wanted you to have it. Carry it proudly, and with honor.” She kissed his cheek and backed away. Alistair removed his own shield and replaced it with Duncan’s. “We should get the others and head to the Landsmeet.” 

“Wait. What did Eamon say to you? Why are you so distant?”

“He wants me to annul the marriage, so that you can be king, Alistair.” 

“You… you didn’t say that you would did you? Tell me you didn’t agree.” He grabbed her arms, afraid that she would bolt. She shook her head no but he didn’t release her. “You didn’t say yes… but you didn’t say no either. Isabeaux?”

“I said neither no nor yes. I couldn’t speak. I… Alistair, do you want to be king?” Isabeaux’s voice was small.

“No, not if it means losing you.” He kissed her hard, trying to convince her to stay. “You said that you were going to support Anora. Did you change your mind?”

“No, Alistair. We should… We should get going.”

“Wait. Tell me how you feel. I… I need to know.” Alistair pleaded with her.

“I love you, more than anything in life.” Isabeaux kissed him gently and allowed him to deepen the kiss.

“Fine. Let’s go get the others and then… go to the Landsmeet. Then you and I will have a very public ceremony so that everyone knows that you are my wife.” He kissed her again and then pulled her along toward the estate.

They took Zevran and Roland with them, encouraging all of them to go, but needing few to walk in with them. It took them more than two hours to cross the city, everywhere they went, bandits and a few of the guards harassed them making them later and later. When they finally made it to the palace for the Landsmeet, Isabeaux looked at Alistair and grinned. He was splattered with blood from all of their little battles.

“And you wanted me to wear the blue dress today?” She smiled as she said it and was gratified to hear him laugh.

“I happen to like you in the blue dress, but you are right, the blood splatters would clash horribly.” Alistair chuckled and held his hand out escort her up the stairs. 

When they entered the great hall, Ser Cauthrien, Loghain’s Sergeant at Arms was waiting for them. The men unstrapped their weapons and prepared for another fight. Only Isabeaux’s hands remained empty. They needed into the Landsmeet chamber and the only way in was through.

“Warden, I am not surprised it has come to this. And Alistair. If you were even remotely worthy of being called Maric’s son you would already be in the Landsmeet, now wouldn’t you. You have torn Ferelden apart to oppose the very man who ensured you were born into freedom. But do NOT think that you will get past me to desecrate the Landsmeet itself. The nobles of Ferelden will confirm my lord as regent and we can finally put this to rest. Well… we can, once you are gone.”

“How can you support the man who killed your king?” Isabeaux spat the words at Cauthrien.

“Cailan was a fool! He grew up a spoiled child in his ancestor’s palace. He never knew what it was to be hunted, to starve. Maybe the Grey Wardens killed him, or maybe my lord let him die of his own foolishness. Either way, it may have saved Ferelden. I am not so blind as you think, Warden. I saw the tension between Cailan and Loghain. My lord is a man of fierce passions, none fiercer than defending this land. If Cailan threatened that…,” Cauthrien shook her head. “But whatever he did, it was only in defense of Ferelden.”

Isabeaux raised an eyebrow, tired of people dressing up selfishness and the lust for power as doing what was best for ‘the people.’ Isabeaux raised her hand and Cauthrien and her guards fell instantly. Alistair looked down and saw that they were still breathing, alive but barely. He looked at Isabeaux, surprised.

“I have some control,” she said, smirking. “Now, we have more work to do.” The four of them walked sedately into the Landsmeet chamber. Eamon was in full voice, denouncing Loghain. Loghain was spouting nonsense about the Arl of Redcliffe being in the pocket of the Orlesians, and when he saw Isabeaux he turned his anger on her.

“Tell us Warden… How will the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would be prince?” Loghain waved his hand dismissively at Alistair. “How much Ferelden blood does Orlesian gold buy these days?”

“The Blight is the threat here, not Orlais.” She wanted to shout it to the hills, but words calmly spoken were what was needed. The other Banns shouted the truth of her words across the hall.

“The Blight is indeed real, but do we need Grey Wardens to fight it? They claim that they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legions of chevaliers. And once we open our borders to the Chevaliers, can we really expect them to simply return from whence they came?” Loghain’s voice got louder as Isabeaux simply watched. 

“You allowed Rendon Howe to imprison and torture innocents.” Isabeaux realizing that anything having to do with the Blight would be drug into a complaint about Orlais, and she could not bring up his betrayal of the king. The Banns shouted again, pointing out the truth of Isabeaux’s words. She was being careful to only speak the absolute truth, not trusting herself to run in the same league as Loghain in the world of half-truths.

“Howe was responsible for himself. He will answer to the Maker for any wrongs committed in this life, as must we all. But you know that. You were the one who murdered him. Whatever Howe may have done, he should have been brought before the seneschal. There is no justice in butchering a man in his home.”

“No?” Isabeaux feigned surprise before raising her voice one notch, letting it carry through the halls of the Landsmeet. “Then why did you send a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon?”

“I assure you, Warden, if I were going to send someone, it would be my own soldiers. I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate.”

The banns once more spoke up. The last of the tortured had made their way out, they had been templars that were beaten and imprisoned under Loghain’s orders to allow a malificar to escape. The Grand Cleric was incensed and promised to investigate the truth of it all. Finally Loghain was forced to announce that the Wardens and Arl Eamon had kidnapped his daughter; going so far as to suggest that they had killed the Queen. Isabeaux couldn’t believe the man and was about to defend herself when Anora walked into the hall.

“I believe I can speak for myself. Lords and Ladies of Ferelden, hear me. My father is no longer the man you know. This man is not the hero of River Dane. I would have already been killed if not for this Grey Warden.” Her voice rang through the hall and all the Banns fell silent.

“So, the Wardens influence has poisoned even your mind Anora.” Turning from his daughter he addressed the collected nobles, calling them to vote. The majority of the yelled out their support for the Warden, but Isabeaux did not smile in victory. She knew that this was hurting Anora, she was a queen but also a daughter. Isabeaux nodded at the queen and spoke to Loghain.

“The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain. Step down gracefully.

“Traitors! Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?” He spun as he talked but while none of the banns looked away, none stood with him.

“Call off your men and we’ll settle this honorably.” She bowed slightly at him, and unstrapped Duncan’s sword and dagger. She would use his strength in this fight. Alistair noticed the blades and nodded.

“Then let us end this. I suppose we both knew it would come to this. A man is made by the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that once. I wonder if it’s more of a compliment to you or me. Enough, Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel.” His words rang out and Isabeaux almost felt sorry for the teyrn. The Banns decided that it would be single combat, fought until one party yields. The Banns had no way of knowing that Isabeaux would not yield, Duncan had taught her that, and her travels had honed her will. Loghain looked at the small woman and almost laughed, then he looked arrogantly at Alistair. “Would you fight me yourself, or have you a champion?” 

Alistair stepped forward, but she stopped him with a gentle touch and a soft smile. Then she turned her face toward Loghain, her face a mask of calm.

“I will fight this duel myself.”


	67. To Be King

Loghain faced Isabeaux, surprised that she would fight him, he was sure that he would win.

“It is you or me that the men will follow. So let us fight for it. Prepare yourself.” He saluted her with his sword, and she did the same. Isabeaux knew that she could easily have defeated him with her magic, but if she did that, then people would only see her as a weapon and mages were so much more. This fight would not only determine the path of Ferelden’s it would set precedence for the mages who would come after. 

They circled each other. She allowed him the first strike, which she dodged easily. Then she took the first steps of the dance that Sten taught her, she could see each opening and exploited everyone. She was completely focused on Loghain and his weapon, trusting the men to have her back should Loghain’s treachery go beyond this fight. She thrust through the gaps in his armor and twisted, beating him down slowly, making him tired, and not showing any weaknesses. Finally he fell to his knees and yielded. He was no longer the great and powerful teryn, he was an old, insane man.

“I underestimated you Warden. I thought you were like Cailan, a child wanting to play at war. I was wrong. There is a strength in you I have not seen anywhere since Maric died. I yield.” Loghain put down his sword and Isabeaux let the anger for what she had had to do without the benefit of Duncan and the rest of the Grey Wardens, all because of one man’s delusion.

“You will die for what you have done!” Isabeaux spoke calmly but allowed him to see her hatred for what he was.

“Wait! There is another option. The teyrn is a warrior and a general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining.” Riordan’s voice cut through the Landsmeet. Isabeaux’s head snapped up and looked at the older warden, distrustful of this line of punishment.

“You want to make him a Warden? Why?” 

“There are three of us on all of Ferelden. And there are compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon.” Riordan was making a good case, but Isabeaux didn’t want Loghain as a brother in arms.

“The Joining itself is often fatal, is it not? If he survives, you gain a general. IF not, you have your revenge. Doesn’t that satisfy you?” Anora was pleading for her father’s life. Alistair had had enough and finally spoke up.

“Absolutely not! Riordan, this man abandoned out brothers and then blamed us for the deed! He hunted us down like animals. He tortured you! How can we simply forget that?” Isabeaux touched Alistair’s arm and he backed down a bit, still bristling with outrage.

“It is not just for his crimes against us. He left the King to die, he showed cowardice when it counted most. I would not, nor could not trust this man at my back, lest I find a dagger in it. Riordan, if you choose to make him a Warden, you will have to do so without me. I will not acknowledge the order with him in our ranks.” Isabeaux crossed her arms and regarded Riordan.

“What would you have us do then, Sister?” Riordan could not stand against the both of them.

“He must die for his crimes against the King and country.” Isabeaux was sorry that Anora had to listen to this, but it had to be done, before they could move on.

“You… you can’t do this! My father may have been wrong, but he is still a hero to the people.” Anora’s voice was breaking in sorrow. Isabeaux looked only at Loghain.

“Anora, hush. It’s over.” Loghain embraced his child for what would be the last time.

“Stop treating me like a child. This is serious.” Anora sobbed into her father’s shoulder, smacking him ineffectually at his armor.

“Daughters never grow up, Anora. They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees forever. I will go and join Maric and my love. It has been too long since I have seen their faces.” 

“Father!” Anora reached for her father again, but he stepped out of reach.

“Just make it quick, Warden. I can face the Maker, knowing that Ferelden is in your hands.” Loghain knelt, facing away from her, expecting the blow. Isabeaux took the greatsword in her hands holding it strong and steady with the use of her magic. She granted him one courtesy, one that was not afforded her mentor Duncan. Isabeaux killed him with magic just as the sword cut through his neck. She had given him as painless a death as she could. Turning away from the lifeless form, she looked at the assembled lords and ladies.

“So, it is decided. Alistair will take his father’s throne.” Arl Eamon’s voice rang out over the silence. Alistair’s jaw dropped and then he started sputtering.

“Wait, what? No! When did this get decided? Nobody’s decided that, have they?” Alistair looked panic stricken at Isabeaux, her face impassive. Anora jumped in, taking advantage of Isabeaux’s silence.

“He refuses the throne. Everyone here heard him. I think it’s clear then, that he abdicates in favor of me.” 

“I hardly think you’re the appropriate person to mediate this,” Eamon stated. “Warden, will you help us?”

Isabeaux looked at Alistair. He smiled at her, his head dropping to the side. As she smiled back, he mouthed the words, ‘I love you, always.’ Her path was clear.

“Yes, I can settle this.” Isabeaux smiled at the assembled and felt Alistair take her hand.

“As the arbiter of this dispute, what is your decision? Who will lead Ferelden?” Eamon was staring at Alistair’s hand holding Isabeaux’s; so was Anora. Eamon looked angry and Anora looked afraid.

“Queen Anora.” Isabeaux was ready for Eamon’s wrath, but the man simply considered the implications. “I would humbly request that Arl Eamon be considered as the new royal advisor, your majesty.”

Anora nodded, she was aware that without Eamon’s influence over the whole of Ferelden, her kingdom and possibly her life would have been lost.

“Thank you, Warden. You were wise not to disrupt Ferelden’s governance any further in a time of such crisis. My first act as queen must be to insist on receiving Alistair’s oath, before all the Landsmeet, to relinquish all claim to the throne for himself…,” Anora looked at Alistair, who was staring lovingly at Isabeaux, “and his heirs.”

Alistair’s response could be heard throughout the Landsmeet, but the words he spoke were to Isabeaux. “You have my oath.”

“And now, lords and ladies of Ferelden. There is still a Blight to defeat and armies to gather, and I appoint this woman to lead us in both. We will not allow this land to be further threatened by the archdemon. Gather your forces and await the Warden’s command.” Anora nodded to the lords and ladies then turned to Isabeaux.

“I understand your reasoning for executing my father, and I suppose, if I weren’t his daughter, I could accept it. Maybe someday, I will. In the meantime, if you are no longer accepted as a guest in Arl Eamon’s estate, I can arrange a suite of rooms for you and your companions.”

Before Isabeaux could accept or decline the invitation, Eamon spoke up.

“Just because I do not agree with her decision does not mean that I would ask my nephew or his wife to leave my home. They may stay until we leave for Redcliffe, where the Warden Riordan says they are headed.” Eamon turned to Isabeaux and pulled her into a gentle embrace. “Thank you for making my nephew happy, even though I think he would have been a wonderful king.” Eamon kissed her on the cheek. 

“Thank you, my lord.” Isabeaux smiled.

“Now, I am going to gather my things and my family and head to Redcliffe tonight. It is about time that you and your new bride had some time to yourselves, Alistair. I would suggest sending your companions on ahead, but… that will be your choice. I will see you at Redcliffe.” Eamon bowed and escorted Anora out of the room, discussing strategy. Alistair pulled Isabeaux into a tight embrace and kissed her passionately in front of the entire Landsmeet, eliciting a lot of cheers and applause. When he pulled back, he looked into Isabeaux’s eyes and smiled.

“Before I forget, I need to say something, love. When Arl Eamon said I was going to be king, I thought. ‘That’s it! Your worst fears had finally been realized. But you didn’t make me king… and Loghain still got what he deserved. Everything has worked out, thanks to you.” He kissed her sweetly and grinned at her slight moan.

“You are okay with Anora being queen then?” Isabeaux still worried about whether or not she had made the right decision.

“Barely, but better her than me, that’s what I say. Anyway… I imagine there are more important things you would like to discuss, like when you will next wear the blue dress for me, and how long you shall wear it.” The last bits were whispered in her ear and she blushed deeply. Alistair chuckled and led his sweet lady back to the estate.


	68. Romantic Interlude: Before We Go

Alistair asked Isabeaux to wait for a few minutes while he talked to people and made arrangements. He made it very clear that he wanted her, alone. She watched him as he spoke with Anora, who grinned and nodded, then with the other companions some of whom smiled. Sten shook his head and spoke quietly with slashing movements of his hands. Alistair argued and the two of them came to some sort of agreement. Roland looked over at her with sadness in his eyes, as if he’d lost a friend or a lover. Slowly he made his way over, skirting around the bulk of the group. 

“I hear congratulations are in order.” His green eyes were sad and she found herself wondering if life with him wouldn’t have been so unpleasant. She smiled softly, almost regretfully, at him.

“Thank you Roland.”

“If he makes you unhappy, he will have to deal with me though.” His hand stroked her soft cheek and he sighed for the what might have beens. 

“Roland…” She was shocked when he pressed a finger to her lips silencing her. Then he leaned in and kissed her gently. He pulled back and looked deeply into her eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere until after this fight. Then… we’ll see. If we are lucky, we’ll all survive this fight. Congratulations, by the way.” He nodded and backed up, not breaking eye contact. Alistair approached the couple warily, angrily. Roland sidestepped around Alistair’s anger by sticking out his hand and extending his felicitations on their union. Alistair looked at Isabeaux who nodded, and then Alistair announced to him that everyone was being moved to the castle for the evening, to be feted as heroes before they left for Redcliffe in the morning. Roland nodded and moved away from the couple, giving them space. 

“We will have the estate largely to ourselves this evening. Sten and Zevran insisted that they stay behind for our protection. It didn’t matter that I told them we wouldn’t need it.” He kissed the tip of her nose, I have sent word ahead for a small dinner to be prepared, and your bath will be waiting for you. Sten will take you back to the estate; Zevran will come along with me. Remember to wear the blue dress.”

*~*

She had sat through dinner, laughing at his jokes and smiling down the table at him. She couldn’t believe that he was hers. She vowed to herself that nothing would separate them.

“What are you thinking about, love?” He had gotten up from his seat and walked toward her, a questioning look in his eyes.

“You,” she said softly. “I was thinking of you.”

“Anything in particular?” Alistair leaned in close, and kissed her. She laughed and ran her fingers through his hair.

“I want…” She bit her lip, still not able to voice her desire. Alistair held out his hand and led her to their bedroom. He took her mouth with his and his fingers plucked at the laces of her dress.

“I really like this dress. It’s lovely, but there is something even more lovely.” His lips ran across her cheek and nibbled gently at the spot where her jaw met her ear. Alistair’s hot breath against her neck made her back arch and pressed her body against his. His hands had worked their magic on her dress and she felt it sliding away from her body. The straps of her chemise were brushed down arms and she was standing in just her stockings and slippers. He stepped away and looked at her, his breathing became ragged and his hands shook slightly.

“You are beautiful love.” Her hands started to move to cover herself, but he held them at her sides. “Please, let me look at you, drink my fill of you.”

She shivered and curled into him as he lifted her and held her close. He murmured words of love and wanting in her ear and against her mouth. He placed her reverently on the bed, placing her buttocks on edge and kneeling between them. He kissed each thigh softly at first and then bit the soft flesh gently, grinning at the moan. His hands gently pushed her wider. He placed a reverent kiss against her feminine core and looked up at her. Seeing her eyes glaze over with want, he continued his ministrations, his tongue delving deeply within her. He wanted to grin but thought that she would take it amiss. Greedily he lapped at her core, wanting to watch her as she shattered against him. He didn’t have long to wait as her hips bucked against him. Isabeaux’s cries reached his ears and spurred him on. Alistair continued to kiss her thighs and cleft as her body relaxed from her release.

As she lay there spent, he slowly undressed and then joined her on the bed. His hands stroked along her cheeks and she stirred under his ministrations, rolling toward him and seeking his warmth. She kissed him gently, her hands skimming along his sides and drawing soft moans from her love. Her hands found his erection and stroked it slowly. His hips responded, thrusting himself between her hands. He pulled her hands free and rearranged the two of them on the bed. Still, she wiggled from his embrace and slid down his body. She grinned as his jaw dropped open with the first lick across the head of his erection. His hands slid into her hair and pinned her against his groin as she caressed him with her tongue. Alistair’s hips lifted off the bed, seeking the warmth of her mouth as she would retreat only to advance and take as much of him as she could. He gasped as she drew more of him inside until he spilled his seed down her throat. 

“My love…” His words were more a moan than anything. His hands slid through the silkiness of her hair and then pulled her close. Alistair kissed her gently and thrust his tongue into her mouth. He pulled her fully on top of him, his erection fully back and Isabeaux laughed at his eagerness. He looked at her smile and his eyes flashed with want, desire and love. “I suppose the joining has other pleasant repercussions as well. It doesn’t take long for the want to return. At least I hope I can match you pleasure for pleasure.”

She spread her legs and cradled him against her core. He gripped her hips and helped her to establish a rhythm, thrusting deep inside of her. Alistair’s hands slipped from her hips and moved up to cup her breasts and thumbed the tips to hard points. Her eyes widened and then closed as she rocked closer to her release. He let her ride him to her completion before rolling her underneath him and changing the angle of his thrusting. Alistair’s face reddened slightly with exertion and she wrapped her thighs around his hips and drove him deeper. He cried out his need to release and she came with him. 

Slowly they slid apart rolled to their sides; Alistair pulled her in close and settled her against him. They were both spent for the moment, but Isabeaux knew that it would not be long before he was hard with wanting her again, and the thought made her smile.

“Sleep, my love. I am here to watch over you.” His words slipped away as she fell asleep.

*~*  
She heard a soft noise and opened her eyes to see the door to their room open. She rolled over to see who was coming in and felt Alistair’s hands slip over her breasts, kneading gently, making her moan. The shadow resolved into Roland and she gasped. He was nude and sliding on the bed. Before she could speak, Roland had placed his mouth gently over hers. She felt Alistair’s hands move lower, looking to stroke her passions. Roland’s body pressed against her front and Alistair rubbed against her from behind. Isabeaux wanted to protest, but both men were touching her softly, making her buck slightly, her legs scissoring in passion.

Alistair was awakened by Isabeaux’s slight moans and her gentle writhing. He ran his hands down her body to slip between her legs. She was wet with need and Alistair grinned, hoping to take advantage of the situation. He slipped down her body and started to kiss and lick at her cleft. Alistair moaned against her, wondering vaguely what she was dreaming of and if he should wake her.

Isabeaux bucked gently against his mouth and woke with a gasp as she shattered against his tongue. He continued to kiss her gently and then pulled himself along her body. She continued to shudder as continual waves of release wracked her body.

“What were you dreaming of, my love?” Alistair whispered into her neck, biting gently. His hand continued to play between her legs.

“I dreamed that we were making love, and woke to find the truth.” She pulled his face up to hers and kissed him deeply. She rolled him over and then kissed her way down his body. Her face was close to his throbbing erection and ran her fingers lightly along its length, causing him to moan and shudder. “I should return the favor”

He watched and shuddered as she licked him gently, using his moans as a guide. When Alistair started to lose control, she slowed her movements, drawing out their pleasure. She slipped him into her mouth as he found release and swallowed him, enjoying the sensation. Isabeaux surprised that he had not softened, she kissed her way back up his body, nipping gently and smiling as his body twitched, wanting and needing her. Isabeaux loved knowing that she was the only one who would ever know this look of absolute love and surrender.

She slipped her leg over his body, pressing his hardness against her and waiting for him to moan and grip her hips. Her body throbbed above him. Alistair moaned as he forced himself to enter her with agonizing slowness. Isabeaux begged for him to thrust harder, trying to force him deeper inside. Alistair sat up pulling her tightly to him, kissing her and driving his tongue in her mouth in tempo to their coupling. He held tight as she sobbed in his arms, reaching toward her release and his. 

“Isabeaux, look at me.” He wanted to see her when she broke against him. 

“Alistair. I - I…” Her eyes locked on his as she came, begging him to join her. The cords on his neck stood out as he spilled within her. He rubbed her back as they both returned from their shared passion. He leaned back, pulling her along with him and then rolled to his side, so that he could better caress her face, kissing her gently. Spent, her eyes started to slip close.

“Isabeaux? What were you dreaming of?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“It doesn’t matter. It could never compare to reality with you.” She pressed her lips against his. He arched his brow but decided that it would be fine with him if she had that dream more often.


	69. Onward We Ride

Isabeaux and Alistair led the others as they rode hard for Redcliffe. It would take them two days of hard riding to reach their destination and the Wardens had roused the companions the hour before dawn to have them pack up and ready themselves. Isabeaux turned her head to look at Alistair; he was flattened against the back of the horse spurring it on. He has asked Isabeaux to use her magic to keep the horses healthy and energize, Alistair wanted to maximize their travel time. As if he felt her gaze on him, he turned and smiled. He didn’t need to tell her that he loved her, it was on his face and she hoped that he could see her love for him in a similar fashion. The dark was coming and they were running out of time. 

*~*

The magic Isabeaux and Morrigan expended had kept the horses running, adrenaline had kept the companions going. Instead of two full days of travel, they reached Redcliffe by midday the next day. They hadn’t seen a single darkspawn since leaving Denerim, which was an unusual event. They galloped over a hill and saw some refugees, fleeing from Redcliffe. Alistair hollered at Wynne and Morrigan to stay with the fleeing people, help as they could. They would do their best to keep any spawn from reaching them. Zevran and Roland suggested that a smaller group would be better at reconnaissance. If Redcliffe was under attack then at least one of them would be able to either get help or warn the refugees. Alistair nodded his agreement and Isabeaux spurred her horse on to the village. 

The destruction caused by the spawn had been great, although not total. It was a small group, a raiding band; difficult certainly but not the worst they had faced. The battled through the first wave and moved further and further into the village. Isabeaux took an arrow in the shoulder and Alistair yelled at her to move back, out of the line of sight and get to safety. She grimaced slightly as she broke part of the arrow shaft and using her bow, she continued to fire volley after volley into the spawn. 

When the last of the darkspawn fell, Alistair turned and glared at her. 

“Why didn’t you do as I commanded?” His face was tight with anger. She held her tongue and looked back at him calmly. 

“Just because you married her does not mean that she will become less of a warrior, Alistair.” Zevran used his belt knife to open the wound a little more and pulled the arrow out of her shoulder. Isabeaux turned a shade of gray and felt woozy. Alistair put a healing poultice on it and held her close until he was satisfied with her recovery.

“I am your equal in this Alistair. I am a Warden and can do no less. You knew this when you married me.” Her voice was soft, the pain robbing it of much of its sting.

“I didn’t think I would react so badly my love, I’m sorry. I was being an ass, obviously.” He kissed her cheek and let her move away from him.

“If there was this much of a force here, we need to see what is going on at the castle.” She turned toward the road and considered sending one of the men back to get the others. Alistair could see what she was considering and grimaced.

“We should check it out before grabbing the others.” Alistair was afraid that without all of them working together they wouldn’t be able to defeat whatever would face them at the castle.

“Re-thinking the execution of Loghain?” Her words were soft and only Alistair heard her.

“Hardly, unless you would consider him spawn fodder. Let’s go. Standing here won’t decrease their numbers.” She nodded at his words and started to run up the hill toward the castle.

The gates of Redcliffe Castle were overrun with darkspawn and they had their work cut out for them. This time, however, they did have assistance. The knights of Redcliffe were firing on the darkspawn and keeping them from breaching the castle itself. 

Isabeaux’s magic was waning and she drew her blades to rip through the darkspawn that threatened to flank them. The battle raged on and she could see more darkspawn coming. Faith had begun to wane when she saw a volley of arrows briefly blot out the sun and take out one wave of the darkspawn. From a distance she could hear Oghren and Sten shout their battle cries as the cut off the spawn the rear. Other shouts that told her that re-enforcements were coming made her smile slightly and her sword arm grew stronger. An Ogre came lumbering across the bridge and batted Isabeaux out of its way. She was flung hard against a wall and lost her breath. She looked up sure that the ogre would pick her up and crush her. The creature’s forward movement was stopped as Roland launched himself at the ogre and buried his blade deep into the ogre’s eye. The creature fell backward, its crash making the ground shake. Alistair ran to her side and looked for obvious wounds. She looked up into his face and saw tears.

“You were so still for a few moments, I thought…” His hand trembled as he touched her face. “I thought you had left me. I couldn’t…”

She smiled up at him and reached for his hand. He held her hand as she regained her strength and then helped her up. A guard ran down the stairs and addressed both of them.

“Wardens! You’re here! Thank goodness!”

“Did any of the darkspawn get into the castle?” Isabeaux was worried that the undefended refugees might still be at risk.

“Some did, yes,” the messenger said, “but we were able to close the gates and kill the ones in the courtyard. I was told to watch for your arrival, Wardens. Your comrade, Riordan, arrived just ahead of the darkspawn attack. He has urgent news for you!”

“I believe the darkspawn attack might be broken for now, can you take care of any others for a while?”

“There might be some stragglers left, my lady, but you seem to have taken care of most of them out here. That’s… rather remarkable, really…” The messenger seemed in awe, but Isabeaux wasn’t about to take credit for this battle.

“Ser Roland and Zevran did most of the work, with Alistair’s help of course.” She winked at her husband as she spoke. “Your thanks should be to them, not me.” She bowed slightly to the messenger and then walked up the steps, more slowly than she liked. Her head was swimming with pain and the adrenaline that had spurred all of them on was beginning to ebb. Alistair was at her right hand the entire way, his strength a soothing balm.

They made their way into the great hall and saw Riordan, Eamon, Teagan and Anora standing there, conferring with each other. Riordan saw their approach first and walked toward them.

“It is a relief to see you unharmed. And you as well Alistair.” The older warden looked at the both of them and realized that they hadn’t quite escaped unscathed. Alistair shrugged and motioned that Riordan should continue. “The darkspawn that attacked Redcliffe was relatively few in number, I’m afraid. It was assumed the horde was marching in this direction… but that is not true.” 

“Riordan tells us that the bulk of the horde is, in fact heading toward Denerim,” said Eamon. “They are perhaps two days away from the capital.”

Anora glared at the men, her certainty that they were not including her in most of their discussions clear on her face. 

“How certain are we that this is good information?” Her question had merit and was one that Isabeaux would have asked. All eyes turned to Riordan.

“I ventured close enough to “listen in,” as it were. I am quite certain.” Alistair and Isabeaux both nodded. At best they would get a few hours of sleep and then would have to ride as fast as they could to reach the capitol.

“Has word been sent to Denerim?” When Eamon nodded, Isabeaux prayed to the Maker that the messenger would reach the capitol in time.

“They need more than a warning; they need our armies!” Eamon was adamant and Teagan looked similarly concerned.

“There is, I’m afraid one other piece of news that is of even greater concern.” Riordan’s words caused both of the other wardens to pause. Isabeaux used her magic to listen and could hear the archdemon laughing. Riordan’s next words were expected by both Isabeaux and Alistair. “The archedemon has shown itself. The dragon is at the head of the horde.”

Teagan uttered an oath as all color drained from his face. Anora and Eamon started making plans for a forced march toward the capitol to provide the much needed troops. Isabeaux’s quiet words cut through the clamor.

“The archdemon is what is important.”

“And only the Grey Wardens can defeat the archdemon. That is why we must go.” Riordan’s words hinted at more, but Isabeaux could wait to hear more bad news.

“Then we march,” Anora stated, “and hope the army collected here gives you the chance you need. Arl Eamon, how long before the army can set out?”

“By daybreak, your Majesty.” Eamon bowed as deeply as his armor would allow.

“Then give the order,” Anora sounded tired. “The longer we delay, the longer Denerim will be at the mercy of the horde.”

“Then we’re off to war. Let’s do it.” Isabeaux also felt tired but the horror of what was coming chilled her. The others in the war council finalized plans and Isabeaux let most of their decisions wash over her. Riordan’s voice tugged at her attention.

“Then if you and Alistair could meet me before you retire, we have Grey Warden business to discuss.” Isabeaux and Alistair nodded at Riordan and turned to take their leave of the council.

“I will have someone show you to your rooms. I suggest you all get some rest, while you can. We will need it.” Eamon clapped a hand on Alistair’s shoulder and kissed Isabeaux’s cheek. Bowing to the queen, Alistair and Isabeaux left the great hall. A few steps beyond the door, Isabeaux stumbled. Alistair caught her and set her on a nearby bench.

“Love? Are you all right?” His words were filled with concern for his wife.

“I will be fine. The ogre knocked me around a bit more than I thought. A hot bath and some sleep would probably be best.” The servant coughed into his hand and looked at the two wardens. He spoke when they looked at him.

“The Arl has set up two rooms for you. Ser Riordan thought it would be best if you slept… separately tonight, to save your energies.” 

Eamon’s servants knew about Alistair’s love for his wife and that they were known for keeping each other up. Alistair blushed slightly, but Isabeaux was too sore and tired to react. 

“Let’s find out what Riordan wants and then ignore the suggestion.” She smiled up at him and Alistair grinned, still blushing. He nodded and helped his wife up the stairs to Riordan and his dire warnings.


	70. The Hardest Sacrifice

They made a quick stop at Alistair’s room so that he could check her wounds. He winced as he saw the extensive bruising and handed her health potions to speed the healing. He found the water basin and soaked a cloth in it, then moved to his wife to wipe the blood from her wounds. She hissed in pain as he swabbed at the damage. Alistair moved behind her, to apply poultices to the worst of the bruising. Sure that she couldn’t see him, he allowed himself a few tears, knowing that the coming battle would be worse and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. It was as if she knew what he was thinking and she touched his hand, turning toward him and claiming his mouth. They kissed as if they would be torn apart any moment.

“We should see what Riordan wants. Perhaps we will get some good news for a change,” Alistair said as he pressed his forehead to hers. She chuckled and then gasped with pain. She cupped his jaw and kissed him again, her tongue running along the seam of his mouth. He opened to her and they held each other for a few moments more. Then she moved away from him and dressed slowly. When she was done, she turned toward him and held out her hand. They moved as if in a dream, each movement slowed. Isabeaux wished it were true, she wanted to wake up and find herself in Alistair’s arms somewhere far away from the looming battle. She sighed and Alistair looked askance at her. She shook her head and led him out of the room.

*~*

Riordan greeted them sadly.

“You are both here… good. You are new to the Grew Wardens, and you may not have been told how an archdemon is slain. I need to know if that is so.” 

Alistair and Isabeaux looked at each other for a brief moment and then Alistair spoke.

“You mean there’s more to it than just, say, chopping off its head?”

“Then it is true. Duncan had not yet told you. I had simply assumed…,” Riordan paused for a minute before going on. “Tell me, have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?”

“I assume it has something to do with the taint in us.” Isabeaux was only half listening; in the distance, she could hear the song of the archdemon.

“That is exactly what it involves. The archdemon may be slain as any other darkspawn, but should any other than a Grey Warden do the slaying, it will not be… enough.” Riordan hinted at a darkness that threatened Isabeaux’s composure.

“And… and what happens to the Grey Warden?” Isabeaux could hear the answer in the archdemon’s glee, but needed it voiced by the older warden.

“A darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel, but a Grey Warden is not. The essence of the archdemon is destroyed… and so is the Grey Warden.” Riordan spoke directly to Isabeaux, knowing that she would have the resolve to finish the job if he could not.

“Meaning… the Grey Warden who kills the archdemon… dies?” Alistair’s voice cracked as he grasped the full meaning of Riordan’s words. His eyes flew to Isabeaux’s face, but she had slid on her mask of calm, not even her eyes betrayed her true feelings. 

“Yes. Without the archdemon, the Blight ends. It is the only way.” Riodan looked at Alistair with pity, this was the other reason he thought it would be best if the two younger wardens were split apart, they would need the time to process the truth. Isabeaux straightened her shoulders and looked straight ahead.

“Then… I will take the final blow myself.” Her words were soft but not her resolve. Alistair’s heart shattered, worried that his wife would not be by his side as he had planned. Riordan kissed her cheek before speaking.

“It warms my heart to see such courage, but do not hurry so to sacrifice your life. If possible, the final blow should be mine to make. I am the eldest and the taint will not spare me much longer. But if I fail, the deed falls on you. The Blight must be stopped now or it will destroy all of Ferelden before the rest of the Grey Wardens can assemble. Remember that. But enough. There will be much to do tomorrow and little enough time to rest before it. I will let you return to your rooms.” Riordan wanted to speak some more to Isabeaux and asked her to remain for a moment or two longer. Alistair bowed to both of them, and then addressed Riordan.

“I will see you once the army is ready to march, then. I guess this ends soon, one way or another.” 

“That it does, my friend… that it does.” Riordan watched sadly as Alistair kissed the top of his wife’s head and whispered something in her ear, then he was gone. When Isabeaux turned her attention back to Riordan, the older man’s expression was one of sorrow.

“You wished something more of me?” Her words were small and she wanted to grieve in her husband’s arms.

“Isabeaux. You are aware, are you not, that your husband will not allow you to take the killing blow. I would agree with him. There are many warriors out there, a number of his caliber but there are few mages with your strength or compassion. Ferelden and the Wardens need you to survive this. When it comes down to the end, you must let him take the killing blow, you must survive this.” Riordan attempted to reason with her, but she merely stared at him.

“I cannot live without him. He is what Ferelden and the Wardens need. He is a born leader, my husband and my love. I risked death to keep him alive, what makes you think that I would not easily give my life to save his. If only one of us walks away from the battle, it will be him.” Her word was final and Riordan knew that she would do anything to keep Alistair alive. She bowed deeply and took her leave, walking slowly, painfully, to the room that had been set aside for her. She was not prepared to see Morrigan standing there, dripping wet from the rainstorm outside.

“Do not be alarmed, it is only I.” The witch’s voice rumbled with slight anxiety.

“Morrigan? Is everything all right?” Isabeaux didn’t want any more bad news.

“I am well. ‘Tis you who are in danger, but what is coming does not need to be. I have a plan, you see. A way out. The loop in your hole.” 

Isabeaux was never good with cryptic and being tired, her words came out more sharply than she expected.

“Does not need to be? What do you mean?”

“I offer a way out. A way out for all the Grey Wardens, that there need be no sacrifice. A ritual… performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night.” Morrigan faced the fire and did not look at Isabeaux, which caused Isabeaux to shake with dread.

“Just what sort of … ritual… is this?” She knew that she was grasping at straws if she thought that Morrigan could or would help her. They were friendly, and could even consider her a friend, but this plan of Morrigan’s sounded worse than actually dying.

“It is old magic, from a time before the Circle of Magi was created. Some might call if blood magic, but that is but a name. There is far more to fear in this world than names.” Isabeaux narrowed her eyes as Morrigan hedged around the truth. 

“Nothing comes without a price.” Isabeaux wrapped her arms around her waist and shook, with cold, with fear.

“Perhaps. But that price need not be so unbearable, especially if there is much to be gained. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to offer, nothing more.” When Isabeaux said nothing, Morrigan continued. “What I propose is this; convince Alistair to lay with me. Here… tonight. And from this ritual a child shall be conceived within me. The child will bear the taint, and when the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process.”

“So… the child becomes a darkspawn.” Isabeaux didn’t like the idea, even less because Morrigan had requested Alistair.

“Not at all. It will become something different; a child born with the soul of an Old God. After this is done, you allow me to walk away… and you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish.”

“Why Alistair? Why not Riordan?” 

“Even if I thought Riordan could be convinced,” Morrigan said, “he is unsuitable. I need one who has not been tainted for long… it must be him and it must be tonight.”

“You actually think that Alistair will agree to this?” Isabeaux was close to tears and wanted to tell the woman no without hearing any more of the offer.

“If you care for him as you seem to,” Morrigan said as she finally turned toward Isabeaux, “you will convince him to. Consider what the alternative might be? You will advise Alistair to do so, and because he trusts you more than he would ever trust me, he will comply. Consider the alternative. If Riordan fails, do you think Alistair will hesitate? He will die the hero of Ferelden, Maric’s son, and you will be forgotten.”

Isabeaux wanted to argue with Morrigan but she knew the truth, Alistair would find a way to kill the archdemon and die. Isabeaux didn’t care about being forgotten, but she could not live without Alistair. More words came out of her mouth, and she was appalled that she was even considering this line of action.

“How do you know this will work?”

“This is what my mother intended when she sent me with you. She was the one who first gave me this ritual and told me of what I was meant to do. This does not surprise you, does it? Did you not wonder why Flemeth saved your life, why she aided you? This is why. What is important is that I am offering this to you now. It will work and it will save your life… his life.”

Isabeaux turned from the witch, hating herself for being weak, for wanting this possibility that they might both live. 

“I will talk to Alistair.”

“A wise decision. I shall wait here, then, while you go and speak with Alistair. I urge you to be convincing.” Morrigan’s words followed her out of the room. 

Isabeaux walked down the hall and proceeded out to one of the balconies to think. Alistair had seen her walk by and had wanted to call out to her, draw her into the room with soft kisses and dark promises, intending to get her promise to stay safe. When she did not hear him, he followed her out and watched from a distance as she slid down the wall in tears. She sat and sobbed for what felt like hours before Alistair called out to her. He was leaning against the doorway, watching her.

“I see you can’t sleep either. I also saw Morrigan outside your room earlier, and the look she gave me… that was icy even for her. Is something up?” He walked over and sat next to her. Isabeaux wanted distance, knowing that he would hate her for what she was going to do.

“You… I love you. You know that right?” She couldn’t look at him; if she did she wouldn’t be able to do this.

“Could you make it sound more ominous? Tell me already.” He put his fingers under her chin and tried to make her look at him.

“I need you to do something that you aren’t going to like. I don’t like it and can’t believe I’m asking you to do it…” Isabeaux had started babble and he leaned in and kissed her hard, forcing her to look at him. Tears streaked down her face and she turned her head even further away from him.

“I don’t care for the sound of that. What are we talking about… exactly?”

“I need you to take part in a magic ritual.” 

“Oh? Something Morrigan cooked up, no doubt. What do you need me to do?” He leaned in to claim her lips again but jerked backwards with her next words.

“You need to sleep with her.” 

“That’s pretty funny. All right, now tell me what’s really going on. You’re… not joking. You’re actually serious. What… sort of magic calls for sex with Morrigan? What’s this ritual supposed to do?” He wanted to look in her eyes, needed that connection.

“It will save whoever has to kill the archdemon.”

“Ah. Yes. I can see how that… might be important. But how does Morrigan even know such a thing? What kind of ritual is this, anyway?”

“It’s some sort of ancient magic, Flemeth’s, probably.”

“Well that’s reassuring. Wait, no it isn’t. Look, even if I was willing to entertain this idea… and I’m not saying I am… is this really what you want me to do? Are you sure…?” She wanted to tell Alistair that it wasn’t what she wanted, but she would do anything to save him, anything. Even if it destroyed what they had.

“You… need to trust me.” 

“I do trust you. If this is what you think is best… I’ll do it.” He groaned as he stood up. “Where is she? Let’s go and get this over with before I… change my mind.”

She stood up next to him and wasn’t expecting his next move. He turned and pinned her against the wall. First he claimed her mouth, pressing hard, punishing her for the request. Then he dragged his lips along to her ear.

“Don’t hate me for agreeing to this Isabeaux. I am only doing it because I could not live without you. You better be waiting for me Isabeaux, when this is done.” He bruised her lips once more as she cried against him, struggling to free herself, or to free her arms and cling tightly to him. As suddenly as it began, he backed away. He waited for a brief moment as she collected herself and led him back to the room. Morrigan was still waiting.

“It would seem your talk is done?” Her query pricked at Isabeaux’s heart.

“Great. So this isn’t a dream after all.” Alistair snarled at the witch.

“What is it to be then? Has a decision been reached?” Isabeaux couldn’t answer, tears streaked down her face. The best she could do was not. Alistair touched her chin and looked at her once more before turning to Morrigan.

“You know, dinner would have been nice… maybe a bit of wine? Or… you could knock me out first…” 

“Tempting.” Morrigan laughed. “Still, I am glad that it has been done. Let us go somewhere more… private, Alistair. And believe me when I say you will not hate this quite so much as you believe.” Morrigan ran her fingers across his shoulder as she walked out the door.

“I will follow in a moment; I need a few last words with my wife.” Morrigan paused in the doorway and looked at Isabeaux. The shock on her face was quickly replaced with pain. Isabeaux could muster up no sympathy for her. Alistair turned her toward him and made sure Isabeaux could see his eyes.

“I love you, Izzy. This will not change that. I need to know that you will be waiting for me after this is done. I need to know that we aren’t losing something even more important.”

“I love you Alistair. I always will, nothing will change that.”

“This better work,” he mumbled. Then he kissed Isabeaux for too short a time, running his hands over her body, memorizing it. “Go to my room and wait for me there, love.”

He walked out of the room without looking back. Isabeaux crumpled to the floor, sobs wracking her body. Roland had come looking for her and Alistair; Eamon had requested their presence for dinner but had been told that all of the wardens were eating in their rooms. Roland had been worried and ran to her side when he found her.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Alistair?” His questions shook her. She wouldn’t be able to tell him, and just shook her head, unable to speak. Roland sank to the floor and held her as she cried.


	71. Running Back

She had been dozing when he walked into the room. Isabeaux held herself still, hoping that he wouldn’t throw her out. She expected to be able to smell ‘her’ on him, but he had obviously bathed before coming to Isabeaux, the smell of soap tickled her nose. She felt the bed depress on one side as Alistair slipped in under the covers and moved close to her. His strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her close. Isabeaux wanted to roll into him, to show him that she still love him, but his arms held her fast. His damp skin burrowed against the side of her neck, kissing her softly. She couldn’t tell if he was crying or merely wet from the bath at first, but then the soft shaking of his body gave his sorrow away.

“Oh, Izzy, please forgive me. I… I couldn’t… she had to… Izzy. I hope it all works, I hope that my sacrifice keeps you safe. My love, please forgive me.”

Isabeaux couldn’t stand for him to be hurting like this and she struggled to turn in his arms, wrapping herself around him, holding him close.

“I shouldn’t have… I should have found another way… I can’t lose you… couldn’t lose you and live. I’m so sorry, my love. So sorry.”

His lips sought hers and upon finding them kissed her softly, still seeking forgiveness. His fingers speared through her hair and held her close to him. Her hands ran down his damp chest seeking his warmth. One of his hands released her head to still her hands on his chest. She looked up at him questioningly but the fear and sorrow were so close to the surface, she understood. When she stilled he kissed her again.

“I’m sorry love. I… can’t. I need you near though; I need to know that the last woman in my arms is you.” She leaned up and kissed his forehead, casting the spell of sleep over him. His eyes started to droop but he kept mumbling.

“Sleep my love. I’m so sorry… sleep.” She kissed him softly and prayed to the Maker that his dreams would be sweet. She snuggled in to him and held him close, praying that she hadn’t ruined everything between them. He murmured her name in his sleep and it sounded sweet on his lips. She allowed herself to drift off.

Dawn broke with a servant pounding on door. Alistair came awake with a start and looked down at the woman in his arms. He breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized Isabeaux. He pulled on his breeks and walked to the door. The servant informed him that Eamon was preparing to leave in two hours. Alistair nodded and shut the door, leaning against it and looking at Isabeaux. He wanted to go to her; sink himself in her but the other part of him felt that she would hate him. He watched from a distance as her eyes opened and her hand slid over to the warmth he left behind. She hadn’t started searching for him in the room yet, he watched as tears slipped down her cheeks and she mouthed the words I’m sorry.

“Isabeaux,” he whispered. Her face turned toward his voice, seeking him in the early morning light. 

“Is it already time to go?” She sounded afraid of something and hoped he didn’t think she was afraid of him. Isabeaux held out her hand and beckoned him closer.

“Not yet, but soon.” He hadn’t moved from the door.

“I should get up, and get ready then.” She lowered her hand and started to get out of the bed. 

“Isabeaux? Are we… okay?”

“Not yet, maybe. But soon. When this is over, we will be fine.” She turned her face from him as she got out of the bed. He rushed over to her and took her into his arms.

“I can’t lose you.” She turned to face him, her face stroking her cheeks and begging her to forgive him.

“You aren’t going to lose me my love. I will always be with you.” She kissed him hard. “Always.”

*~*

The ride to Denerim was hard on everyone. Isabeaux wasted some of her magic keeping their horses going until they were able to change them out. At the first change of mounts, Alistair had her ride in front of him, theorizing that she would be able to focus more of her magic if she didn’t have to steer the horse too. 

All of them arrived on the heels of the horde and Isabeaux cringed slightly at the destruction they saw. Alistair bowed his head and settled his lips against her neck. She leaned into the kiss wishing they were somewhere else. He kissed her neck surreptitiously before dismounting the horse and helping her down. 

The Queen had rallied the troops from Redcliffe, but as Isabeaux looked over the crowd, she saw the Dalish and dwarves standing alongside the humans. Isabeaux even recognized a few mages milling about with the crowd. Isabeaux and Alistair walked up to the dais where the Queen had climbed to address everyone.

“Before us stands the might of the darkspawn horde!” Anora’s voice rang out over the crowd. She motioned to Alistair to drag Isabeaux to the stage. Anora reached out and pulled her up alongside her before continuing. “The woman you see beside me is an elf, raised to the ranks of the Grey Wardens! And never a more glorious Grey Warden has there been! She has survived despite the odds, and without her, none of us would be here. Today we shall avenge the fallen! Today we shall avenge the King, my beloved! Today we fight! For Ferelden! For the Grey Wardens! 

A cry went up and the full force of the army rushed toward the gates. Isabeaux took a minute to drink a lyrium potion that Alistair handed to her. He looked at her, trying to judge her strength. She checked her weapons and then looked at him. She moved off the dais and started to follow the rest of the army. Alistair grabbed her and pulled her close.

“My love, stay safe. Do you hear me Isabeaux?” She nodded at his words before he pulled her into a punishing kiss. He continued until she moaned against him. “Later. I look forward to a night… a day… a lifetime in your arms and hearing you make that sound. First the archdemon and then loving you.” 

He unstrapped his sword and his shield and looked at his wife, grinning rakishly. Alistair nodded in the direction of the burning city as if suggesting that they rush in and save the day. She smiled and followed him as he fought their way through the horde. The gates of Denerim were in chaos. Pockets of fighting were erupting everywhere. Isabeaux watched as Alistair took off in one direction while Isabeaux was drawn in another. Isabeaux used her magic to slow the onslaught, giving some of the refugees a little bit of time to escape, her blades slashed through the spawn and she fought her way to Teagan’s side, keeping him from getting skewered on the end of a darkspawn blade. He grinned his thanks and continued to push the spawn back. 

The fighting went on for hours and she knew it would continue until the archdemon was slaughtered. Slowly they made inroads pushing at the spawn and securing the gates. Riordan watched as the two wardens and their companions fought to find a second wind. Isabeaux settled somewhere quiet and breathed deeply seeking more power within herself. Alistair pushed some food on her when her eyes opened and then helped her up to meet with Riordan. The older warden told her that she should take Alistair and no more than two others to move through the city in search of the archdemon. He also warned her of two darkspawn generals, these creatures would make travel through the city difficult but Riordan wasn’t sure that it was worth the danger of eliminating them. 

“Fewer darkspawn to follow us if we manage it though, right?” Alistair’s voice demonstrated a strength of character that made Isabeaux fall in love with him again. Riordan agreed but couldn’t get a clear idea of where they were. Isabeaux and Alistair nodded; they would seek out the generals and then make their way to Fort Drakon, the highest point in the city. Isabeaux chose Zevran and Roland to join them. If the others were disappointed, they did not show it. Isabeaux suggested that Sten lead the others in any battle that might present itself at the gates. 

The companions moved toward Alistair and Isabeaux, saying their goodbyes before they disappeared. Roland and Zevran stepped back to let the wardens prepare. Wynne and Leliana spoke quietly to both wardens. Wynne’s eyes showing the sorrow that she was sure one or both of them would not return. Isabeaux nodded her understanding and moved to speak with Oghren.

“It has been an honor fighting alongside you, Oghren.” The dwarf looked at her and grinned.

“No one has looked at me and seen honor in a long time warden. I should thank you for giving me the chance to find it again. Take care of yourself and come back to us, you hear me?” Isabeaux nodded and gave the gruff dwarf a quick hug. When she turned she was surprised to see Morrigan standing behind her.

“I did not know what it meant to have a friend, once. But I would gladly consider you such. I am sorry for the pain I sowed and wish there had been another way.” Isabeaux nodded, but did not move to embrace her as she had the others. 

“One day I will look back on this and not feel pain. One day we will be friends again.” Isabeaux wasn’t sure that she could live up to the promise but she wouldn’t allow regrets to kill her, nor would she take them with her into battle.

“Go on and kill your archdemon. Live gloriously… my friend.” Morrigan finished with tears shining in her eyes. They stepped apart and Isabeaux sought out Sten.

He was surveying the troops and smiled slightly knowing that the men would listen to him as a warrior, not just because he was attached to the wardens. He looked down at Isabeaux, and his thoughts were hidden from her as always. Sten inclined his head slightly and showed her more respect than she had ever seen him give.

“Kadan.”

“Sten. Are you ready for this?” The Qunari grinned; he had been born for this battle.

“The enemy awaits. Shall we give him the death he asks of us?” Isabeaux nodded and smiled at his faith in their chances of survival. “Then let us bring this gift to the archdemon. Good hunting, Kadan.”

“Good hunting, Sten.” She was surprised as Sten embraced her quickly and then turned to prepare the troops. When the Qunari walked away she was faced with Alistair, who no longer looked as sure as he had sounded a few minutes ago.

“This is it, huh? Who would have thought that we would have made it so far?” Alistair walked closer to Isabeaux, until he could reach out and take her hands.

“I always knew you would make it here, to this point. Alistair… you…,” she paused trying to find the words.

“This isn’t goodbye, I can’t let this be goodbye my love. No matter what happens, I will do my best to protect you. I can face anything knowing that you will be safe. I love you. I can never say that enough and I hope we will have a lifetime after this for me to tell you every day, a number of times per day.” He reached in and kissed her ardently. When Alistair pulled away, she could only see him and his love. She touched his face.

“I love you. Always.” She smiled the words and turned to face Riordan. They nodded their goodbyes at each other and the wardens split up, preparing to face the strength of the spawn and eventually the archdemon.


	72. Majors and Generals

Isabeaux and Alistair led their little group through the streets of Denerim, choosing to avoid the small pockets were others had the battles well in hand, but jumped in when their armies were over run. Slowly they made it to the Market District. Isabeaux was pushed to the back of the companions as the men attacked ogre after ogre. Certain that the men had the darkspawns’ attention; she snuck through the winding streets looking for the general. He was standing in the chantry courtyard watching his ogres attack the men. Slowly, quietly she unslung her bow and focused solely on the general. Remembering what she had been taught, she took a deep breath in, and then released it, followed by releasing the bowstring. She used her magic to propel it across the void between them and almost released a crow of joy. She turned and started shooting multiple arrows at the ogres, sowing confusion among the beasts and allowing the men to finish them off. They paused for a few minutes to eat and check for wounds. Alistair made sure that she also drank some lyrium potions, knowing that she was depleting her store to keep them going.  
They had another general to go and Isabeaux stretched out her senses seeking the creature. She paled when she found him.

“Isabeaux? What is it?” Alistair asked as he stretched his senses. At least they wouldn’t have to travel far, just to the Alienage. He looked at her as she came back from the dark and realized that their life would always be like this to some degree. Her eyes focused on him and he smiled.

“What? Why are you smiling?” She seemed confused but she smiled back at him.

“I’m okay with it.” His three companions looked at him oddly. Realizing he spoke aloud, he continued. “Our lives… will always be like this to some degree. While I would love to have you all to myself for the rest our years, we will always be fighting darkspawn, and I’m okay with it. As long as I’m with you.”

She grinned and he leaned in and kissed her softly, not wanting to start something he could not finish while the world was falling apart. He moaned as she ran her fingers along his cheeks, then she pulled away and stood. They had a way to go before they were done. 

The four of them slipped through the alleys and headed toward the alienage. Zevran and Isabeaux made sounds of dismay seeing so many of the elves still stuck in the slums. Isabeaux ran up to Shianni, the girl had a bow in her hands and a determined look on her face.

“Cousin! We didn’t think anyone was coming. We got the gate closed, but they are going to break through any moment.” Shianni hugged Isabeaux quickly as she spoke.

“Get the others to safety, run them through the warehouses.” Isabeaux wanted to at least make sure that the last of her family was safe.

“No. I want to help.” Shianni set her mouth in a mulish line.

“Fine, but stay back, and help get people to safety.” Isabeaux took a deep breath and looked at the others, they were ready. As they ran to the gates, they encouraged the elves to run toward safety as they headed toward danger.

An ogre pounded at the gates, its huge fists striking the wood over and over, splintering the rotting timber. Alistair took the center most point; he would be the first thing that the ogre saw. Roland stood to his immediate right. Isabeaux and Zevran took the high points, looking over the gate and picking off some of the smaller darkspawn. The gate shattered and the ogre swiped at Alistair. He used his shield to block most of the blow, but in an effort to aid him, Isabeaux froze the creature before turning back to the horde using her magic to suppress the onslaught. Alistair shattered the ogre and he and Roland ran into the bulk of the darkspawn. Isabeaux screamed as Alistair slipped under a pile of darkspawn. She sank to the depths of her magic and created a whirling firestorm that ate through the spawn. Zevran caught sight of the general and slipped off the platform, drawing his blades. The darkspawn general tried to drain her energy but she shielded herself and continued to draw the general’s fire until Zevran could reach him. Her magic faltered a little and she sought more within her, not willing to delve into her stash of lyrium unless she had to. Alistair was badly wounded and she emptied the last of her magic pool to heal him. Weariness slammed into her and she was almost hit by a darkspawn arrow.

She refocused her energy, still wavering on her feet and started to fire volleys into the spawn. Slowly the flow of darkspawn ended and Isabeaux allowed herself to collapse with exhaustion. She lay in a heap breathing heavily, hoping to be able to move before Alistair saw her, she stayed conscious which was a huge leap from mere months ago. Alistair ran up to her, aware that she had depleted the last of magic healing him. She was leaning against the fence, watching him approach. When he got close, she pushed up off the fence but did not stand. 

Shianni ran up, surprised that they had succeeded and then looked worriedly at her cousin. Isabeaux waved away any worry that Alistair and Shianni showed. 

“I’m tired. We rushed from Redcliffe to here and immediately started fighting. It’s been a day… of fighting.” Isabeaux sounded surly and it made Alistair smile. Shianni pointed out that the Hahren, Valendrian had not run either. The Hahren invited the five of them, including Shianni, into his home and shared what little food he had. He prepared a few bed rolls for the four fighters and offered to watch over them. Shianni promised to keep an eye on them as well. The four of them fell asleep almost immediately. 

An hour later, the Hahren woke Isabeaux up and led her out to the Vhenadhal, the tree of the people, to help her regain both strength and magical energy. They sat quietly on the ground and the Hahren encouraged her to touch the tree with one hand and take his hand with her other. Then he asked her to close her eyes, to feel the energy that the Vhenadhal had to give her as a child of the Denerim alienage. She relaxed and felt the tree reach out to her. She could hear the songs that generations had sung to and around the Vhenadhal. The tree fed her energy, making her more awake, stronger and had more magic at her command. When she opened her eyes, everything looked slightly brighter, but the song of the archdemon had faded somewhat. The Hahren looked both surprised and pleased that the tree had accepted her so readily.

“It is always like that?” Isabeaux stroked the trunk of the Vhenadahl lovingly.

“No. It rarely gives its energy so freely. It understands the situation though, and seeks to help its people.” The Hahren bowed slightly both to her and the tree. His reverence shocked her.

“I should get my companions. Time is running out.” She smiled slightly and allowed the Hahren to lead her back to his home. The others were awake and ready to move on. They checked their weapons and their supplies then started across the bridge. 

When they had reached the halfway point, the archdemon appeared, flying almost low enough to touch. It blasted a hot blue flame across their return path, destroying the bridge. The four of them ran through the gates and head on into another massive battle. Darkspawn were everywhere and seemed to ooze out of the walls. Isabeaux could still feel the Vhenadahl feeding her energy. Slowly they cleared the path leading to Fort Drakon. 

High above Alistair and Isabeaux saw Riordan leap on top of the archdemon. The dragon bucked and tried to scrape the warden off its back. They watched with baited breath as Riordan tried to deliver the killing blow mid-air. The dragon attempted to scrape Riordan off and the man jumped from the archdemons back to one of its wings. His sword had little purchase though and sliced through the thin skin of the wing. The two younger wardens below saw the dragon falter from the wounds that Riordan had given it, but it was too late for the older warden. He plummeted from a distance even higher than Fort Drakon. Isabeaux looked away as Riordan’s body fell and said a brief prayer for his soul. Alistair walked over to her and they both looked at the tall tower, upon which the archdemon waited.

“It always comes down to a tower with us. Doesn’t it?” Alistair smiled wryly as he asked.

“Well, you were right about one thing. The one good thing about the blight is that it brings everyone together.” She smiled and Alistair chuckled. The four of them pushed the giant doors opened and wondered what surprises waited for them inside.


	73. The Final Battle

They had fought through the entirety of Fort Drakon. As they swept each room free of darkspawn, Isabeaux wondered if there were any left still fighting outside. Floor after floor of the benighted things threw themselves at the four of them. Eventually they made their way to the top of the tower. Only one door separated the four of them from the archdemon. 

Roland suggested they stop for a bit and regain some of their strength. It would all be over for them, one way or another soon enough, what would a few minutes hurt. The four of them collapsed on the floor, packs and weapons clattering around them. Zevran rummaged around looking for more health or lyrium potions. Isabeaux and Alistair were too tired to move, having made sure that they would take the brunt of the attacks. When Roland had argued that they would be facing a far more difficult enemy, Alistair countered with a comment about their being more than the archdemon on the roof, and the archdemon would take all his and Isabeaux’s energy. Roland muttered about the logic of that but understood that both Alistair and Isabeaux knew more about the darkspawn than he did.

Alistair and Roland shared a look and then Alistiar excused himself to go check on Zevran, leaving Isabeaux and Roland alone.

“What was all that about?” Isabeaux looked at Roland. 

“He knew I needed to talk to you, this will really be our last chance, if it all goes wrong.” His dark green eyes looked away from her, and she could see that he was worried.

“It won’t go wrong, Roland.” She reached over and touched his arm. He responded by taking her hand and kissing it, gently. “Roland, I’m married.”

“I know, and I wish you were married to me, but wishing doesn’t change things. I need you to know that I still care for you, and I always will. If something happens… I needed you to know that. I know what you asked Alistair to do last night. I am grateful you did, because I don’t know if I could have watched you die. 

“At any rate, I wanted you to know how grateful I am that we found each other. You saved me from the darkness, and I will be forever thankful.” He leaned in and kissed her before she could say anything. It was short, but filled with longing. When he broke the kiss, Roland stood and walked away. Isabeaux sat and watched him walk off, completely confused. Zevran laughed as he walked over. Alistair, Isabeaux could see, was standing off to the side, letting the other men have their goodbyes.

“That look on your face is simply wonderful, dear Isabeaux. I could tell you that it will all be fine; wine and roses await us, but you would know it for a lie. I, too, thank you for your deliverance from the darkness of my past. There are days that I wish that you were meant for me, but alas, you were not. Make him happy, he deserves it. I have already warned him that if he breaks your heart, I will kill him.” Zevran broke off with laughter at the look on her face. “I would simply have to, my dear, to avenge my love. Treat each other well, but do not forget about your favorite assassin. You are also, not allowed to let me die. I am simply too handsome to perish at the hands of a dragon. As long as we are clear on that point. So, this shall be our goodbye until after the beast is slain.”

Zevran leaned in, far more slowly than Roland, enjoying the look of shock on Isabeaux’s face. His lips touched hers with the barest brush and her body vibrated. Zevran’s eyes glittered with delight and then deepened the kiss just slightly before breaking away. He had seen Alistair start to walk toward them, and knew the possessive look on the other man’s face. As Zevran stepped away, Alistair was taking his place. 

Alistair leaned in and claimed his wife’s mouth, taking his time, tasting her, knowing that regardless of the precautions taken, it could be the last. Her arms wrapped around his neck and held him close. Alistair kissed his way across her cheek and to the point just below her ear, his breathing heavy and ragged.

“My love. Tell me this isn’t the end; tell me that I will be able to hold you like this once more.” She could hear the fear and knew that it was her fear as much as his.

“You will have the rest of our lives to hold me, and I am looking forward to that moment.” She held him tightly for a moment longer before taking his mouth with hers. When she found the strength to pull away, she looked at him. Her love for him shone through her eyes.

“I love you Isabeaux.” His words punctuated with a soft caress.

“Always.” She couldn’t resist one last swift kiss, before turning to gather her things. If she kept looking at him, she would lose her resolve. She double checked her weapons, wondering if any of them would be able to kill the creature. Internally, she tried to strengthen and deepen her magical pool. Please, she prayed, please let us be victorious. Her fingers skimmed over Duncan’s sheathed blades and could feel his encouragement ringing through the metal. She spared a look at Alistair and then they both nodded. It was time.

*~*

The creature was huge, and while some of the forces on the roof still lived, they were sorely tired. Isabeaux spread minor healing energy across the roof to bolster their forces. Her eyes lit on the ballistas and yelled to Zevran. She knew that Alistair and Roland would prefer to fight the damned thing with sword and shield, so she would work to harass it from a distance. 

She fired the first volley and while she was loading the weapon, Zevran fired. Back and forth they shot the archdemon while Alistair, Roland and the ground troops fought the assembled darkspawn troops. Twice, Isabeaux threw her magic at Alistair and Roland, healing both men. When Alistair noticed, he grinned and she scowled. She kept firing the ballista at the archdemon though. The darkspawn forces had pushed the defenders across the roof and far from the archdemon. The creature had lost most of its strength from the wounds that the ballista had caused.

Alistair was too far from the archdemon and the blow had to be delivered quickly, before the creature gained some of its strength back. Isabeaux left her perch and started running. Knowing that Duncan’s blades wouldn’t pierce the skin of the dragon, she grabbed a greatsword, her magic allowing her to wield it.

The archdemon saw her coming and fought to get to its feet. It prepared to blast her with the molten blue fire, but Isabeaux was quicker, she dropped to her knees and slid along the gore slick stone, ducking underneath the dragon’s head. The blade, pointed straight up, ripped through the creature’s throat and tore into its chest. The archdemon reared up and Isabeaux rolled, losing her grip on the sword, and unstrapped Duncan’s longsword. The creature crashed, driving the half buried blade deeper into its body. Isabeaux then pierced the archdemon’s eye with Duncan’s blade, pushing it deep. She didn’t notice the column of light that surrounded her at first; she was absorbed with destroying the archdemon, with ending the Blight.

From a distance, she heard Alistair yell, the sound filled with fear. The light grew brighter, and she turned from her love to finish her work. She could not allow the spirit to escape and infect another. Her blade twisted once more and she felt the corrupted spirit of the Old God snap away from the dragon’s body. The force it created flung her across the top of the tower. Her body slammed into something solid and she collapsed in pain. 

She dreamed that she was in the Circle Tower, talking with Duncan. He congratulated her on a job well done. She smiled slightly, and asked after Alistair. Duncan looked at her sadly and shook his head. 

“He is not here child. You have to go find him.”


	74. Final Bow

“Isabeaux?”

Everything hurt. She tried to move, but was too bound up to manage it. She moaned, softly with frustration and pain. A cool hand stroked her cheek and she turned toward it.

 

“Isabeaux?”

She knew that voice, knew that tone, worried, loving. She fought to open her eyes. ‘Don’t leave, I’m here,’ she thought frantically. Her eyes slid open, feeling dry and gritty. She searched for the voice, searched for her love. Alistair leaned in and kissed her gently. When he pulled back, he smiled softly.

“Hello, my love. You had me worried.”

“Wh-wh-where am I?” Her throat was scratchy and dry, like her eyes felt. She blinked a few times which helped, and then Alistair brought some liquid for her to drink. It soothed the burning in her throat.

“We are in the palace. The Queen is very grateful for your actions. The populace calls you the Hero of Ferelden, better you than me.” He chuckled. “We were worried about you. I thought that even with the… uh… precautions we took, you had still died. Valendrian and Wynne said that you were badly hurt, but still alive. I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to… I couldn’t have…” 

Tears streaked down his cheeks, from relief and joy. She wanted to wipe at them, but she was too swaddled to reach him. She looked down in frustration and then back up at him. He chuckled and told her that they’d had to wrap her in healing poultices to tend the burns from the archdemon’s blood. 

“The one on your face healed quickly, but the ones on your arms went deeper. They will check them again today, and maybe you can have more freedom. Don’t think you will be walking around anytime soon though, they will want to monitor your progress.”

“You aren’t leaving are you?” She winced at the sound of her voice. He laughed lightly.

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. They won’t let me stay in your bed, so I’ve been on the floor.” He exaggerated the grimace to make her laugh.

“I need you next to me, don’t they know that? It’s how I will heal best.” She bit her lip and looked at him hopefully.

“Let’s get the dressings changed and then we will nap. Is that alright? I need to hold you more than you need to be held, I think.” He leaned in and kissed her again. She smiled against his lips and watched him go. She could hear him shouting all along the hall that she had woken up, she had come back. The joy in his voice made her heart sing. It would be okay, everything would.

*~*

It had been three weeks since she had woken up. Her wounds had healed and all Isabeaux wanted was to lose herself in Alistair’s touch. Wynne had been strict with how much exercise that she could do per day, and none of it seemed to include making love to Alistair. When he walked up with her lunch, she cornered him.

“Alistair?” She watched as he turned toward her. Sure that she had his full attention, she dropped her robe, and walked toward him only in her thin shift.

“My love… you should… we shouldn’t…” He stammered and his hands shook.

“Do you no longer want me?” Isabeaux wasn’t sure that she could handle a rejection now, but she had to know.

“Oh, Maker. Yes… I want you so… but Wynne…” He was rooted to the spot, and Isabeaux decided to push a little harder. His eyes widened as she slipped the thin chemise off her shoulders, and stood in front of him, completely bare. The cool air of the room making her shiver. Alistair licked his suddenly dry lips and ran to the door. Isabeaux pulled in a little and bent to retrieve her shift, pausing when she heard the lock engage. She turned and saw Alistair walking toward her, pulling his shirt over his head. He flung it to the far side of the room and then scooped her into his arms. 

His mouth was on hers, moving feverishly, possessively. His arms kept her close as he walked blindly toward the bed. Gently, Alistair placed her on the soft sheets and finished divesting himself of his clothing. Isabeaux arched toward his hands as he ran them along her soft skin. Faint bruises still marred the pale softness, but she felt no pain as he explored her.

“I was so worried that you no longer wanted me, that… I was tainted by Morrigan’s presence. I thought you might have asked Wynne to run interference. Isabeaux, I need you.” He slipped his lips from hers, moving them across her face and then down her neck.

“I thought that perhaps you were longing for her, and that was why you wouldn’t touch me.” She was close to tears when he stopped kissing Isabeaux to look down at his wife. 

“Nothing could compare to you.” He slipped his hands between her thighs and prepared her for him. She squirmed a little as she felt the dampness spread across his fingers. He grinned and then spread her legs, and slipped between them. She couldn’t remember him being so large or hard as he thrust into her. She cried out and He stilled.

“Have I hurt you? Was Wynne right? Is it too soon?” He looked at her earnestly, and she wrapped her arms around his back and tried to pull him closer.

“No, love. You haven’t hurt me, though if you stop now, I might have to hurt you.” She rose up and kissed him hard. Her hips moved upward slowly to meet his, and she smiled as he moaned. He pressed her gently down onto the bed, his body caging hers as he rocked between her legs. Her soft moans spurned him on, burning away all doubts that had lingered. For the moment they were the only two in the world. He could feel her reaching toward her release and forced himself to let her come first. When she had melted around him, he drove in harder as she spurred him on with gentle touches and hot kisses. He came harder than he thought possible, spilling his seed deep. Knowing that she would need her rest, he pulled away and collapsed beside her, pulling her close.

“You promised me a lifetime of holding you, my love, I think I shall start to collect now.” He kissed her neck and let sleep and sweet dreams claim them both.

*~*

Isabeaux stood at the bottom of the dais as the Queen took the stage to address the assembled lords and ladies. Alistair stood on the dais as well, having been given the honor by the queen herself. Rumor had spread that Anora had chosen Alistair as the liaison between the throne of Ferelden and the Grey Wardens in part to quell the small rebellions pushing to make Alistair king, even though he had renounced all claims. 

Alistair laughed at the fuss and claimed to only want to spend time with his wife before some new problem raised its ugly head. As they waited for the formalities to begin, the Grey Wardens from Weisshaupt and Orlais were coming to speak to Alistair and Isabeaux. He stood calmly up on the dais and grinned down at his wife, the person of honor at this assembly, as she fidgeted and wished she were elsewhere.

"My friends, we are gathered to celebrate those responsible for our victory.” Anora’s voice was strong and held a hint of amusement at the discomfort of the guest of honor. “Of those who stood against the darkspawn siege of Denerim, there is one in particular who deserves commendation. The one who led the charge against the archdemon and killed it remains with us still, an inspiration to all she saved that day. Ladies and gentlemen, I present the hero of Ferelden, the first Grey Warden to defeat the Blight since Garahel four centuries ago.” 

Anora beckoned Isabeaux to the stage, pulling her up alongside the Queen. Turning, she looked and smiled into Isabeaux’s eyes. The Queen felt a friendship with this warden, having spent as many hours chatting with the elven mage as Alistair would allow. 

“Grey Warden,” she started, “it is hard to imagine how you could have aided Ferelden more. I think it only appropriate that I return the favor. Is there any boon you might request of Ferelden’s queen?”

Isabeaux considered all of the things that she could have asked for, freedom for mages, more rights for the elves of the city. She had talked to Anora for hours about those very things, but knew that the regent would be hard pressed to do any of it.

“I only ask that the sacrifices of the Wardens should not be forgotten again.”

“An excellent point.” Anora nodded at Isabeaux. “We can begin with a monument here in Denerim dedicated to Duncan and all of the other Grey Wardens who fell to save us. We should also collect scholars to learn more about the darkspawn. We’ll face them again, here and with the dwarves. Let it also be known that the arling of Amaranthine, once the land of Arl Howe, is now granted to the Grey Wardens. There they can rebuild, following the example of those who went before them. What are your plans? Will you remain with the Grey Wardens?”

“The darkspawn are still a threat.” Isabeaux didn’t feel the need to add that she would be staying with the wardens; they were her life and her family. Anora nodded, understanding the unspoken.

“I am certain they will be relieved to know your intentions. There is a group of eager Ferelden citizens waiting outside to get a look at their hero. I suggest you make at least a brief appearance before they storm the gate. Just, ahem, tell the guard at the door when you are ready.”

Isabeaux nodded and backed away. She really didn’t want to go out and wave like some puppet. Her eyes slid over to where Alistair stood. Alistair’s eyes moved down her body and paused at her stomach, his brow raising, causing her to place her hand there. Her senses told her something had changed, and Alistair could feel it. She looked up, surprised joy lighting her face and saw his answering smile shining brighter than the armor he wore.


End file.
